Not a Wizard
by RhombusCreature
Summary: What it all really boiled down to was a mental flip of the coin. Well, sometimes the coin falls on the other side. Rewrite from the ground up with a very different kind of wizard.
1. Knock knock

A thin curl of wood flakes off the table to join a small pile at my feet. My knuckles are covered in saw dust and I try not to rub too close to my eyes when I brush away the bead of sweat slicking down my brow. The shed is hot, even at this early hour, but I'm stubborn in my dedication to this project. I blow sharply across the form in my hands, sending a small scattering of dust into the air.

The thing isn't perfect, a little rough across the back end and the base would probably wobble, but I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out. I flex my hands out, placing both the carving and my hand chisel down. I'll have to sharpen the thing again, but I don't have any oil left at the moment and I'd prefer not to ask my uncle to pick some up.

I poke the front end of the wood, a small chunk of beech I had scrounged out of the park awhile back and admire the grain. I don't think I'll paint this one. I snap open a can of clear varnish instead. It's a small labor of love as I brush a thin coating over the detail work. It shouldn't take all too long to dry in this heat.

The door to the shed rattles hard in its frame, I frown as a wrench falls off a shelf. It should only just barely be breakfast by now, not nearly late enough for my uncle to be looking to dragging me out to do work. I dust myself off and reach the door in the middle of the next knock. I unlatch the door and slide it open.

"Yes Uncle? How can I help.. you?"

I blink rapidly in the sun light. My uncles bulk fills most of the doorway, even at the arms length he's standing at. Behind him the perfectly manicure lawn and the tidy rose bushes still sparkle from when I watered them this morning. It's a perfectly normal view, very boring. The confusion in my tone is due to the rather tall old man in a blue dress standing slightly behind and to the side of my uncle. I calculate my uncles purple expression for a moment.

"I see you've decided to hire a magician to entertain Dudley. A little late for his birthday but I'm certain he will appreciate it. I'd really much rather keep working if it's all the same to you though, thank you."

Vernon lets out a strangled growl that sounds close to a teapot at boil. His hands twitch at his side, definitely resisting the urge to cuff me. I'm fairly confident he won't do so in front of a stranger, but I never really can tell with him. The old man chuckles beside him which appears to send my uncle into a new shade of purple.

"What did you do?"

The words are hissed out from behind gritted teeth. I stroke my chin for a moment, thinking the question over. All I've done so far today was water the yard and work in the shed. _Something yesterday?_ No, I spent most of that in the library looking over books on engines so I could fix the mower. I eye the old man over my uncles shoulder who grins at me with twinkling blue eyes. Hmm.

"If this is about the zoo I'm not apologizing. I can't help it if Dudley is standing behind me when a camel spits and he's too slow to dodge."

Vernon grabs the shed door, holding it in place before I can slid it closed. _Not that then._ I'm at a loss here, really.

"Why is this man here for you?"

I squint at the old man, readjusting my glasses. He's very tall, taller even than my uncle. He's wearing an eye watering blue number that goes from neck to foot and ties in the front like a bath robe. Half moon spectacles sit on the bridge of a crooked nose. A thick white beard about as long as I am tall is tucked into his belt.

"I've never met him before in my life, but if he's recruiting for a carnival I'll go willingly."

The old man clears his throat and produces a folded up letter from his sleeve. The paper is darker and heavier than the kind you'd find most places these days. I recognize it but I've got my poker face on now and can sense the trouble I'll get in if I acknowledge it.

"I believe you sent this through the post to me my boy."

The mans voice is airy in a way that reminds me of old forests. There's something distant and whimsical there. I refuse to reach out and grab the letter.

"You must be mistaken sir, I have never once written to the carnival. They also tend to move so I'm not certain how one would go about addressing a letter to one in the first place."

His grin is crooked and his eyes twinkle strangely in the light. He unfurls the letter with a deft flick of his wrist that is surprising in both its swiftness and it's lack of accompanying popping of bones. Most men his age would have sprained something doing that.

"So this letter about attending this upcoming year at Hogwarts addressed to one Harry Potter, resident of the cupboard under the stairs at number Four Privet Drive is not yours?"

"It certainly appears to be addressed to me, I haven't any clue how it would have ended up in your hands however, unless you happen to be another Harry that lives under the stairs."

"I am not."

"A mystery of the post then, my apologies for the confusion."

"No trouble, no trouble."

Vernon's eye twitches and a vein throbs on his forehead. He's showing a great deal of restraint considering the strangeness in his yard however. Hasn't even yelled yet. _Impressive._

"I suppose I shall just take that letter then, yes?"

"By all means Mr. Potter, it is yours."

I wipe my hand off and ignore my uncles twitching as I reach out to grab the letter. I half expect my uncle to shred the thing the moment it passes him but he continues to simply bristle in anger. The old man grins crookedly as I fold the thing up and place it in my back pocket.

"Well, if that will be all gentlemen? I believe I have a few things to finish up in here."

"Oh but Mr. Potter, were you not at all curious as to the response to your request?"

The man has certainly played this kind of game before. I shall not be outdone though. I'm too smart to incriminate myself so easily.

"As stated before sir, I did not send this letter to you, so how on earth would I have either a request or expect a response?"

_Take that old man._

"So the words 'prove it' written on the back side of the invitation we're not written by you?"

I pull the letter back out and make a showing of slowly opening the thing. I skim the front contents briefly before flipping the page over and readjusting my glasses. I tap my chin and hold the letter a distance away, squinting at it, before bringing it straight to my face. The words 'prove it' are indeed scrawled in carpenters pencil on the reverse side.

"The words do certainly have a passing resemblance to my own handwriting I suppose. Very difficult to say with any certainty that I wrote them however, not without a comparative sample."

"You wrote to this nutter?!" Vernon erupts, spraying my glasses with flecks of spittle. _He certainly took his time building steam._

"As stated and evidenced by the distinct lack of stamp on this letter, I did no such thing. This kind man happened upon what I can only imagine to be tampered post and is bringing it to my attention."

I had failed to place a stamp on the letter when I dropped it back in the box that same day, that is absolutely true. I also hadn't addressed the thing, especially not to anyone as specific as this old man. I'm a terrible liar, as such I haven't told a single one.

"You wrote to this nutter and invited him into my home!"

It would appear that my misdirection has failed._ No dinner for me tonight._ Then again, I could always go for a Hail Mary. Couldn't really get any worse.

"Sir, I believe I have failed in my responsibility as a British citizen and not taken the time to greet you properly. As you know, I am Harry Potter and it is a pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid I never caught your name."

"That would be because I have yet to give it."

The old man stands serenely, eyes still twinkling with unnatural brightness. I can't tell if he's simply keeping the game going or if he's being a bit cruel for my implying he came from a circus.

"Ah, yes. May I have the pleasure of your name then sir?"

"You, in fact, have it."

Of course, that would make sense in some strange way. Get a letter from a school for wizards and witches, write back a snarky reply and drop it in the box. Naturally it would find its way back to the one who sent it out.

"You must be Minerva McGonagall then. My apologies, you are a touch more bearded than one might expect of the," I pause to consult the letter, "deputy headmistress."

I got him with that one. His eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a long laugh from his belly. Vernon looks close to detonation at this point but something is still holding him back from swinging at anything. The mans laughter subsides after a few more seconds and he wipes an eye.

"Oh my, I had quite forgotten that she had taken over that particular task this year. No no, I am the name at the top."

So Albus Dumbledore, supposed headmaster and many varying outlandish titles, had gotten ahold of my letter. All the better.

"Well then Headmaster, not that this is an admittance of course, but I believe there was a request penciled into the back of the letter which you had mentioned. Would you mind, given the nature of this exceedingly strange letter, proving it?"

The headmaster mulls this over for a second or two before producing a slender length of wood from his sleeve. At this Vernon finally snaps and pinwheels to face the old man. His yell dies in his throat as there's now a full grown lion standing between the two men. It gives off a low rumbling growl as it regards my uncle in much the way he looks at a well done steak. I break the sudden stretch of silence that results.

"Well, I suppose that will suffice. Please, join me in my office Headmaster."

My uncle says not a word as I lead the old man into the shed and let the door snap shut.

* * *

The headmaster bumps face first into a wind chime. It's above head level for me so I never think about the thing. I catch the wrench that falls off its hook once more as he bumps backwards into the door while trying to disentangle from the jingling metal. _I should probably fix that hook at some point._

"Welcome to my office, please make yourself at home."

The wind chime is caught in him beard and he spends a moment tugging it, only tangling the thing deeper. He gives up after a second and taps the metal with his wand causing the thing to dance free on its own. My eyes move to the bandsaw across from him which coughs up a small spark. Weird.

"Please, have a seat. Do you want tea?"

I take the few steps over to the far wall and start opening the small set of mismatched drawers I've cobbled together. I get through six of them (nuts, bolts, hinges, fuses, sandpaper, razor blades) before the seventh yields a few loose tea bags. _Now where did I put that camping stove?_ The floorboards creak on the other side of the shed, drawing my attention.

"I have some here if you don't mind chamomile."

The headmaster is seated in a plush chintz armchair done up in gold and red. It looks just worn enough to be comfortable. A small round table sits before him, a gleaming silver teapot giving off a drifting trail of steam and a few saucers resting a top. My eyes swim slightly as I notice that they shouldn't fit in the space they occupy but they stubbornly manage it. I pull a chipped stool out from my workspace and plop down in it.

"Chamomile is fine, though I'm fairly certain it's considered rude to bring your own refreshments."

Dumbledore offers me an amused smile and stares about the shed with a curious eye. I help myself to the tea as he takes a minute to gaze about. The place is a mess and I know it. Half finished carvings, gutted machines, bucket after bucket of random stuff I've found in trash cans. He doesn't seem to mind though, eyes dancing over everything that isn't tucked away. He points to something over my shoulder as I'm taking my first sip of tea.

"And what is this?"

A small shape darts passed my ear and claps into the mans hand. I let out a snort as he turns the shape over, regarding it with twinkling eyes.

"It's still wet is what it is."

My latest little project glimmers in his hand. It's decent enough for the work of a couple days. I've never before had the opportunity to carve such detail into anything. The owls that have been hanging about the neighborhood recently have been oddly patient with my watching of them though. Patient enough to give me a crack at carving a pretty accurate miniature of one.

"Marvelous work, simply marvelous! You did this by hand?"

Dumbledore doesn't seem to mind the varnish coming off on his skin in the least. He rolls the wooden figure along his open palm and I see something in its form shiver. I have a moment to wonder about that before the figurine spreads its wings and begins to clumsily hop about. It even chirps and bobs it's head.

"I don't think I made it quite as realistic as that."

"Nonsense, it may as well have been jumping around already!"

The little wooden owl preens a few feathers before fluttering a few inches into the air. I can feel my mouth stretching into a smile as I watch my last few days of work manage a lazy spiral. It lands on my left shoulder and chirps, regarding me with wide wooden eyes. Dudley would be quite jealous if he saw._ Though he did smash the last wooden rabbit I made the mistake of showing off._

"Now, I believe you had a few questions?"

A few seems like a very large understatement to me. I've always been a bit too inquisitive, or so Uncle Vernon would tell me. _Disassemble two remote controls and you never hear the end of it, I swear_. I mostly manage to put the second one back together too. But yes, questions.

"I take it you don't send invitations to every boy and girl on the block to attend a magic school, so I suppose I should ask the obvious first. Why did I receive one? I don't even know any magic tricks, let alone anything like this."

The headmaster peers at me over silver frames with a knowing look.

"Why? You're a wizard of course. And as impressive as it would be if you could pull a rabbit out of a hat no one expects you to do anything quite so spectacular just yet. That's why one goes to school after all. To learn."

"Fair enough point, but how exactly do you know I'm a wizard then?"

At this Dumbledore taps the side of his nose and gives a conspiratorial wink. I arch an eyebrow and gesture blankly with my hands in response. I'm going to need a bit more than that.

"Have you never noticed anything strange happen around you before? Nothing peculiar when you were angry or sad or wanted something very much?"

I frown in thought, letting myself think on it for a minute. Then another. The tiny wooden owl hops up on top of my head and picks at a few strands of hair. It flutters and lands as I shake my head. _I've got nothing._

"Nope, can't say that I have. Unless you count the spider incident, but that was perfectly natural I think."

Dumbledore leans forward in his seat in response to that.

"Spider incident?"

"No, nothing I'd think of as magical about that. Don't worry about it."

I clear my throat lightly and refuse to make eye contact. No, that was a very bizarre event, but ultimately natural. As was Aunt Petunias reaction to it. Still won't sit in the same room as a spider when she spots one.

"Any other way you can check that I'm supposed to be going to a magical school? Pull a centuries old sword from a stone or wave a wand or something?"

"I assure you Mr. Potter, there is no need for anything like that. Trust me when I say you are a wizard. Your parents enrolled you the very moment you managed to float a teddy bear to your crib."

Now that was something interesting. Involuntarily my head snapped forward and I lock eyes with the headmaster. My green eyes searching his blue for something. Some kind of lie or joke maybe? I'm not sure.

"My parents?"

"Yes Mr. Potter, your parents. James and Lily were very excited when it happened, they called me rather immediately as I recall. I believe James was less excited the second time when you managed to launch a dirty diaper at his head."

My mouth is suddenly a little dry and the many questions I had intended on asking evaporate. My throat clenches a bit and I have to clear it before I can speak.

"That was my fathers name then? James?"

Across from me the headmaster stills, arm stretched to grab his cup. A flicker of something crosses his eyes so quickly that if I wasn't watching his every move I would have missed it. I smell something heavy and electric in the air for a moment and the shed seems somehow darker, even with the early morning light pouring in through the dusty windows. The cup by his hand rattles on its saucer. The hairs on the back of my neck raise.

"Sir?"

The moment passes like an exhaled breath.

"My apologies Mr. Potter. I shall have to have a talk with your relatives before we depart today."

His tone is tight and short. If I had ever envied the Dursley's, I cant say that I do anymore.

"Yes, your fathers name was James. Last of the Potter family before yourself. Quite the prankster when he was at school. He once blew up three floors worth of toilets. His head of house at the time never quite managed to actually prove that though. You're his spitting image, besides the eyes. You have Lily's eyes."

James Potter, a prankster. Looked just like me besides the eyes. I have my mothers eyes. I drink it in like water.

"What happened to them?"

The headmaster sags into himself at that. He looks old, far older than I had first guessed when I saw him on the lawn. Deep lines run across his brow and there is no twinkle in his eye. His mustache twitches into a frown. He sets his cup back down untouched.

"That is a story you deserve to know, but one which I cannot give in full. There is still much I don't understand about that night. I shall tell tell you what I can."

And he did.

It was not a happy story, though I suppose, I knew that from the start.

It was Halloween, a time of great importance to magic kind. A time of power and change. My parents were in hiding, wrapped up in a war that threatened to boil over into the muggle (what we call non magical) world. A faction of blood purists (those who believe that the magical world is meant only for those born into it) were terrorizing the local population. My parents belonged to the opposite camp.

They had struggled against these terrorist, fought their leader, and escaped several times over. They were now major targets. Thus they went into hiding. It involved a powerful spell, something that would make them impossible to find if you didn't already know where they were. It didn't work.

A select group marched into the home, catching my family by surprise. They fought, as best they could, but were unprepared. This group managed to take out both my parents before they could run or call for help. And that just left me.

If that were all, I would have met the same fate. As it was, something happened. Some backfiring of a spell or some unknown protection kicked in. I was left untouched. My assailant was less fortunate. As was the house. I was found in the smoldering wreckage of my parents home and taken to my relatives. The rest is history.

"So why am I still alive?"

"That, my boy, is the complicated part I can only guess at."

We sit in pregnant silence.

"So what happened to the terrorists?"

"Their leader was defeated that same night. By the hands of another boy oddly enough. It's a bit of a mystery as well, the boy-who-lived. The group fell apart within days."

I have no idea what to make of that. I say as much.

"I have no idea what to make of that."

The headmaster stroke his beard and nods. The wooden owl had fluttered back to him at some point and chirps as he plucks it from his beard.

"I'm sorry I don't have more answers for you."

I give a half hearted shrug. I'm not used to receiving answers anyway. Often enough I have to find them myself in this house. Maybe there's an archive of old newspapers or something. I'll have to look into it.

"S'alright sir. You've given me more answers than most would, even if they all provoke questions."

He drinks the remainder of his tea. I place my cup delicately back on its saucer, mostly untouched. I'm not in the mood for it. I push the stool out from under me with a scrape. His chair simply winks away as he stands. The space it occupied returns to jarring normalcy. I blink a few times as my brain adjusts.

"So, what next?"

Dumbledore taps a bony finger to his beard in thought.

"I suppose, Mr. Potter, that all depends on you. The invitation for your attendance is, of course, still open. If you have other plans.."

"I don't!" The words rush out of me as he reaches the door. I feel myself redden from the outburst. _Way to play it cool in front of the powerful wizard_. I try again. "Have other plans that is. I accept the invitation."

The man beams at me, eyes shimmering like a pond at noon.

"I don't really know where to go for all these supplies though. Nor do I really have much in the way of money at the moment."

I have a bit saved up, mostly from collecting whatever my relatives forget in the wash. A decent amount from patching up the worst of Dudley's hand me downs and selling them to consignment shops too. It still doesn't sound like enough to buy a wand though. I can only imagine how expensive a magic stick is.

"Ah yes, school shopping. I don't have anything planned for today, it would be nice to stretch my legs and shop around for a bit. I shall take you. As for money, your parents left you an ample amount to cover anything I believe."

The headmaster turns away from me and swings the shed door open while I rub at my eyes. _My parents left me money?_ I've been thinking they went off and died in a car accident leaving me to my relatives this whole time. But they cared enough to set me up at a school and left behind enough for me to go? I don't know what to even think. I sniffle as I step out into the yard.

The lion has gone, off to where I don't know, as is my uncle. I'm not sure if those two things are connected. I stop just short of hoping so.

"Now, I believe I need to have a talk with your family, if there's anything you need to grab I'd recommend doing so. I'm not certain we will be coming back given the address on your letter."

I almost feel ashamed at that. Cupboard under the stairs doesn't sound all too confidence inspiring of my life here. It is a fairly decent assessment however.

"Where will I stay until school starts? It's a whole month away, isn't it?"

"I have a suitable place in mind, worry not."

The headmaster follows me across the yard to the back of the house. The moment I open the door the shouting starts.

"YOU!"

Well I found my uncle.

The man is standing in the door way to the kitchen, face an unhealthy shade of purple, eyes bulging and mustache flecked with spittle. I can't help but notice that he has changed into a different pair of pants. He takes a heavy step towards me.

"Do you think that was funny boy! After all we've done by taking you in?! I always knew you'd bring this freakishness with you someday! Should have tossed you out on your ear the moment you arrived on the porch!"

He makes it half way across the kitchen before a thunderous boom comes from behind me. I can feel the headmaster looming in the doorway just over my shoulder. All the lights in the kitchen flicker. Despite the undercurrent of something buzzing over my skin, the man speaks calmly.

"Mr. Potter, if you wouldn't mind collecting your things, I shall be with you in a moment."

Vernon doesn't make a move as I edge passed him out of the kitchen and into the hall. His face has gone incredibly pale. Aunt Petunia bumps me as she rushes into the kitchen. I stop for a moment to listen at is sure to be a shouting match to end all shouting matches but there isn't a single sound coming from the kitchen besides a low buzzing.

It doesn't take me very long to pack. All of the clothes that I've sewn to fit fill half a backpack. My only decent shoes are already on. I do stuff a few half full note pads and a set of paints in as well. I'll have to grab my hand tools from the shed before I go but that's everything.

I smooth the worn sheet on my cot. I can't help but sit down and look about. Almost eleven years in this tiny room and I could fit all my comforts into a school bag with enough room left over for twice that. I give a little knock against the underside of the stairs. A couple spiders poke out from the cracks and creep down to dance over my knuckles. _I'll be taking them with me I think._

I boost up a loose board in the floor and grab a small wad of bills and a pouch of coins. Fat chance I'm leaving that behind. One last look around the room and I step back out into the hall and make my way into the kitchen. The headmaster is waiting for me, my relatives are not.

"All set my boy?"

"Just have to grab something from the shed and I'll be ready."

He nods his accent and I lead him back out into the yard. The house stands behind us looking for all the world like something out of a model neighborhood. It's too clean, the corners are too neat, the dirt doesn't even spill an inch passed the flower beds. Far too normal.

As I gather the handful of well worn hand tools I've gathered from yard sales and bargain bins my little wooden owl flutters down from a shelf to rest on my shoulder. I let it tuck between my collar and my hair, nipping lightly at a few wild strands. A little chunk of strangeness in all this placid normalcy.

The headmaster regards me serenely as I step out of the shed, my pack slung across one shoulder. He holds out a hand, eyes twinkling.

"Now, if you are all set, we shall be off. Much to do my boy, and so much for you to see."

I grab his hand in mine. I'm oddly surprised by how calloused it is.

"How will we be traveling sir? I didn't actually see how you got here in the first place. Is your car out front?"

His smirk holds a bit of strange humor behind it in that moment. I feel my skin prickle and something electric in the air makes my hair stand on end.

"Nothing so simple as that, though I wouldn't mind giving a car a try one of these days. Hold tight Mr. Potter."

I don't have time to ask why before there's a crack of air and the world drops away into a sea of color.


	2. Ups

"I think I'm going to puke!"

The world tilts back into sudden shocking clarity and I lurch forward, nearly dropping to my knees if not for a steadying hand that catches my shoulder. My stomach clenches painfully and I heave for a moment, coughing. My eyes attempt to lock on everything slightly left of where I want to actually look and the whole experience is terribly disorienting. Whatever that was I hate it.

"Are you alright my boy? First time is always a bit rough."

_Rough? That was more than just a little rough._ I take slow deep breaths and clench my eyes shut to make the world stop pirouetting. The headmaster fusses over me as I try to control my stomach. My little wooden owl tracks a circle about my head. I pinch my eyes shut, swallowing down the nausea.

"You two alright over there? Ah! Professor!"

The voice belongs to a man, older from the sound of it. I refuse to open my eyes and look.

"Yes Tom, just a first time apparition. I always forget it isn't easy on the stomach. How are you?"

I groan and dare a slight peek. The low lights of a pub thankfully greet me. I think bright light would set me off right now. _Or movement. Or the thought of movement._

"You know me Professor, keeping busy. Expecting a flood of students any day now."

My stomach stills enough that I manage to straighten out and squint around. The place is cozy, full of neat little booths and tables. A few oddly dressed patrons look at me with sympathy before returning to their drinks. In front of a long bar and old man with a small patch of greying hair is polishing a thick glass tankard. That must be Tom.

"And who might you be? Firstie by the size of you I'd wager. Little small for it though."

I'm a perfectly normal height thank you. Maybe a few inches shy of average but still. I'm only ten, I hardly need the judgement. I give a stifled belch as my nausea subsides. I snatch my owl, still doing a lazy loop, and put it in my pocket.

"Harry, Harry Potter sir."

The old man places his glass down on the bar end and walks out to shake my hand. He grins and I see a few gaps from missing teeth.

"Well met Potter. I still remember when your Da used to come in trying to buy fire whiskey before the school year. As if I forgot how old he was. Spitting image you are, hopefully without the mischievous streak though. Good grip on ya too."

There's a distinct picture being painted of my father. It's a dim outline of the man, but better than the nothing I've had up until this point.

"You knew my father?"

"Aye, not that well mind you. Mostly came in before the school year for a butter beer or two before shopping. Always joking about with that group of friends of his. Sketchy bunch of pranksters they were."

The headmaster waits patiently as I speak with Tom, busying himself chatting with a short man in a corner booth wearing a heavy looking turban. The man looks to be a sweating mess of jumpy nerves. I listen with wide eyes as the old barkeep goes on about what little he remembers of the man.

"So if I remember correctly that small fellow that tagged about with him comes back in from the alley, looking naked as a babe. They'd tagged the portal and his robes so when he walked back through his whole get up would go transparent. Had a woman spit her beer out from the back table to the bar when she saw!"

The smile splitting my face might be the widest I've ever had.

"Ah but I tend to ramble, sorry. You and the professor are probably on a schedule and here I am jawing on. If you've got time on the way back feel free to stop by the bar for a bite."

The headmaster sidles up to my side, having finished his own conversation. I note that the turbaned man is making his was out the door, still twitching occasionally.

"All set Harry?"

I nod my accent and he leads me passed the bar to a far wall out of sight of the front door. Where as the front end had been full of paintings and newspaper clippings strewn across the exposed brick, here there was a wide expanse of nothing. Even the light back here was a single swinging bare bulb. A dented steel trash can is placed against the brick, dusty but empty. The headmaster pulls out his wand and runs it along a few of the bricks.

"Remember Harry, from the bin it's three bricks up and two across."

I nod, not quite following why I need to remember that but storing it away.

"And then a tap."

I can't even help it when my jaw drops open. One by one, from the spot in question outward, the bricks give a shudder and melt away. A great gaping hole spreads to reveal a bustling alleyway that reminds me of an anthill. The place teems and swarms with men and women dressed in an uncountable number of colored cloaks and robes and dresses. A man in a hot pink pinstripe suit steps passed us into the bar as I gawk.

Dumbledore clears his throat and I'm led numbly forward into the alley. I barely notice the opening closing up behind us as my eyes dart back and forth in a effort to absorb everything they can. An antique storefront to our left is advertising color changing frog spawn. To my right I spy a cat with two heads coughing smoke in a brightly lit window. Further down a man in a bowler hat tries to open a door whose knob changes position rapidly. And the smells! I catch whiffs of baking sweets and roasting nameless meats and the pungent bite of fertilizer and all throughout the undercurrent of something electric.

"Welcome Mr. Potter, to Diagon Alley."

I'm speechless as he more or less drags me about the alleyway, pointing out odds and ends as we pass them by. Here is a bookstore we will come back to later. There is a potion shop that advertises home grown tarantula hairs. Over there is a haberdashery he once frequented. This store sells the best wool socks money can buy. Throughout all of this an endless parade of men and women stop for small talk with the man and he greets them each by name and with a smile.

I'm almost dizzy from looking about by the time we reach the end of the alley to a massive structure that looks to be carved from living marble. I find myself open mouthed once more as I stare down the massive doors, a warning prominently carved into each one.

_Enter, stranger, but take heed_

_Of what awaits the sin of greed_

_For those who take, but do not earn,_

_Must pay most dearly in their turn._

_So if you seek beneath our floors_

_A treasure that was never yours,_

_Thief, you have been warned, beware_

_Of finding more than treasure there_

"Our first stop, Gringotts. One of the most secure places in England right behind Hogwarts. Mind the goblins."

Goblins? My eyes level down to where a pair of armored somethings flank the doors. Both scrutinize me with reproachful looks. Their skin is a deep shade of green, looking more like thick knobby hide than flesh. Their armor is gleaming under the open air of the alley, the one on the left featuring a prominent dent in the side. I can't help but eye the long spears each of them grip. The one on the right offers a cruel grin full of small sharp teeth.

"Careful not to stare too long Wizard. You may get a closer look than you bargained for."

He slams the butt of the spear on the white marble steps with a crunch. The one on the left snorts his amusement as my face reddens. On my side the headmaster makes to take a step forward between us but after years of being chased about by Dudley I don't intend on letting someone shorter than me bully me about. I give a snort of my own and look righty straight in the eye.

"So says the midget wielding mounted weaponry on foot."

I say it under my breath but it still carries up the stairs to the goblins pointy ears. The sharp-toothed grin sinks back into a scowl and he spits a thick wad of phlegm off the side of the building. Lefty gives off a low rumbling laugh at him. Dumbledore takes that moment to mumble an apology and pushes me up and through the doors. I stick my tongue out at righty as we pass.

As we walk through the yawning doors the headmaster grabs my shoulder and leans down to whisper in my ear.

"Very Gryffindor of you Harry, however I must ask that you try not to antagonize the goblins. They tend to be a little.. easily provoked."

My face burns again at the comment and I can't help but feel that whatever the Gryffindor comment was meant to be I shouldn't take it as a compliment. I make a study of the polished floor as we come to wait in a short line for a teller. _First day in a new world an I'm already mouthing off and getting myself in trouble._ I've had my ass handed to me enough I should know better. I'm so preoccupied that I hardly notice when we reach the front of the line until the headmaster speaks.

"We are here to access Mr. Potter's vault."

I can barely see the face of the goblin peeking over the high table. The top of his face squints down with a pinched expression over round glasses. I hear more than see his shuffling paperwork about for a moment before he grumbles.

"And does Mr. Potter have his key?"

_A key? Am I meant to have one for a bank I've never been to?_ I fruitlessly search my pants pockets. Dumbledore reaches deep into his cloak for a moment before producing a burnished silver key and handing it over. The goblin glances at it for a moment before giving a shrill whistle.

"Griphook!"

A narrow featured goblin with yellow green skin steps out from behind the towering counter. He's wearing a well tailored business suit which looks a bit odd all things considered. Though, looking about, it appears that most of the goblins running about are in business suits. The goblin gives a sharp toothed smile that comes across a bit condescending.

"Follow me wizards."

We follow along at a sedate pace towards a side hallway. Yet more goblins stand on either side of this passage, these two in gleaming armor that reflects the merry light of candles and torches in a way that makes them look very impressive. They give the headmaster and I a quick glance as we pass.

The passage is a short one, still cut from the same brilliant marble, leading to a heavy oak door that Griphook unlocks nearly without stopping. I'm a little baffled as we enter the next room to find a mine cart of all things waiting for us. The heavy iron track the cart straddles recedes to an indeterminable distance, though I think when I crane my neck it slopes slightly downwards.

"Come on, haven't got all day. Hop in."

Griphook is already seated at the front of the cart, having moved while I was trying to peek down the tunnel I guess. _He's quicker than he looks_. The headmaster daintily places himself just behind Griphook, holding out a hand to help me up over the lip. I'm barely seated before the wheels give a small squeak and we begin to roll forward.

I've never been on a roller coaster before, though I have seen one. For Dudley's birthday we were all dragged along to an amusement park and I got to watch him ride one particular ride over and over. The thing had raises and dips and a single large loop. It didn't appear as fun after he puked the third go around. I'm strongly reminded of this as we pick up a ludicrous amount of speed over a few feet.

I give an involuntary yelp as the walls part way around us, the cart very suddenly exposed to open air on all sides, revealing a gaping space full of crisscrossing tracks for what looks to be miles in all directions. And then we dip.

It feels a lot like being punched in the stomach, in that my attempt to scream results in a short gasping wheeze. We drop for a dizzying few moments before the cart corkscrews sharply and I think I spot a sudden gout of flame but we pass it so quickly I can't be certain. Then a sudden incline leaves me feeling weightless.

My eyes close, almost by reflex, and I find my body relaxing. Something about this feeling clicks home and it feels right. I can't help the laughter that bubbles out of my mouth. In front of me I can hear Dumbledore giving off a faint whoop of joy.

The ride is over far too soon for my liking.

"Vault 687, all out."

I'm a little shaky as Dumbledore helps me out of the cart. In my pocket the little wooden owl makes itself known and pops out, giving a half hearted couple of flaps into the air before I catch it again. _Can wood get dizzy?_

The vault door, and that's what it is, a massive metal vault door built straight into the rough stone surface of the wall, stands before us. The metal portal is almost ridiculously sized, standing taller than the Dursley's two story home easily. Griphook steps forward with the now ridiculously undersized by comparison key and slots it into a tiny hole right around head height. I hear a faint click and a whir in the stone as a seem pops open on the face of the steel.

_Shiny. Very very shiny._ Torches pop into brilliance inside the vault as the doors yawn wide, illuminating a stretch of gold, silver, and bronze coinage. It doesn't fill the whole space. I can't even imagine the amount it would take to fill the entire space down here. Even so, the piles stand taller than I am.

"Is this really mine?"

The comment is really more to myself than anyone else, but the words echo loudly back across the room and back. Dumbledore places a hand on my shoulder and nods.

"It is, in fact. I did say your parents made sure to leave something behind for you."

Yes, he did. But I wasn't expecting! Well, I didn't really have any idea of what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. My hand goes to the small sum of coins in my pocket and I feel silly for having brought it.

"Your fathers side of the family is an old one by our standards. The fortune may be a bit reduced from what it once was. It is, however, still a substantial amount."

The headmaster has a way with understatement. I let myself calculate for a moment, gazing at the stacks of coins._ How much would this be worth? In a world where a magic wand can make lions out of air, what worth is a coin?_

"Excuse me, Griphook? I don't know anything about wizard money. Can you explain what these are supposed to be worth?"

Griphook regards me with a raised eyebrow and an otherwise dismissive expression. I let my eyes linger on his for a few uncomfortable second before he snorts and grabs three coins from the pile. One bronze, one silver, one gold.

"Knut. Sickle. Galleon. Twenty nine Knuts to a sickle, seventeen sickles to a knut. Current market rates put the galleon at just under five pounds."

That was more information than I was honestly expecting. Griphook puffs himself up a bit after the explanation. He is a banker though, and it would be his wheelhouse. Still, what strange conversation rates. It gives me something to work with though.

"So this is quite a bit for an almost eleven year old to be in charge of then."

I nod to myself, thinking of all the silly things I could purchase on a whim. I pinch the fabric of my clothes for a moment, feeling the threadbare material. I could do with something new. _Do wizards sell jeans?_

I can almost imagine going back to Private Drive, gold coins spilling out of my pockets as I waltz around in clothing I haven't had to stitch together myself or scrounge from a consignment shop. I could pay someone to do the chores my relatives have been pawning off on me for so long. Hell, I could probably get Vernon to be polite for once._ Or they would just take it all._

_Damn it._

"Headmaster? About how much will I need for my school supplies?"

The old man taps his chin for a moment before drawing his wand. With a flick a coin purse pops into being in his hand and with another a small trickle of tinkling coins flows into it. It isn't nearly as much as I'd think one might need, leaving an almost unnoticeable dent in the piles of coins.

"This should cover the year with perhaps a bit left over."

The sack drops gently into my hand, weighing quite a bit less than I expect it to. I gaze at the mass of coins left over in the vault for a moment and think it over. A bit of wiggle room would be nice, but not enough to worry over spoiling myself. Make it last.

"Can I take a little more for secondary purchases?"

"It is, of course, your money. I would simply caution against needless spending."

That is certainly fair. I grab a fist full of silver and two shining gold pieces and place them in with the rest. The sack cinches shut and I make sure to place it deep in my backpack. No sense advertising the amount I have after all.

"All set when you are Headmaster."

The ride back is slower than the ride down was. I have the feeling it has less to do with the cart running uphill and more to do with the grumbling goblin controlling the ride. In either case, it's over far faster than I appreciate.

The headmaster and I exit the bank. He takes a moment to tuck his beard back into the belt of his robes as I make a half hearted pass over my hair attempting to flatten it out. The goblin guards outside the door pay little mind as we leave, though righty does spit over the side of the building again as he sees me. I'm in high spirits and can't bring myself to even wrinkle my nose in response.

Dumbledore leads me along down to the crowds of the main alleyway, chuckling as he watches my eyes wander from storefront to storefront. Without a word we travel the well worn cobble to an ancient looking building with dusty windows. A small sign saying _Ollivander's_ rests in the pane, letters faded and peeling.

"Here we are, our first and most important stop. Not the only wand shop in the alley, but certainly regarded as the best."

_A wand shop!_ I drink the building in, scrutinizing every inch of the peeling paint on the door to the worn scuffing in front of it on the pavers. If I had to guess a place to purchase something as important as a wand, this would fit the bill. Even the air here is oddly still and sends goose flesh running up my arms.

I reach out to grasp the knob and an electric thrill travels up my fingers at the contact. It's an uncomfortable sort of feeling, and it leaves them tingling. I look back at the headmaster, discomfort probably visible on the edges of my expression. He simply looks at me quizzically and I take a deep breath and reach for the knob once more.

I don't even touch the worn brass before my hand draws back almost without my notice. _Why do I feel so sweaty suddenly?_ It's a stupid knob on a stupid door. This one isn't even doing anything strange. And yet..

"Are you alright Mr. Potter?"

I flinch from the unexpected question. _When did he get so close?_ Dumbledore is standing beside me, eying my outstretched fingers still a foot from the knob. I raise the offending hand and wipe across a cold but slick brow. _Stop being weird and open the door._

I grit my teeth and more or less ram my hand back into the knob. I don't even need to turn it as the door creaks open with a whine at the contact. I have to hold my breath as I scramble over the threshold. My heart is pounding in my ears.

I feel on edge as Dumbledore closes the door behind us with a snap that echoes in a way that implies far more space than I can see. I shiver, though the air here is more warm than cold. _There is something wrong here._

I hold myself and let my eyes wander the space. The place is old, far older than the outside implied. The air is choked with fine motes of dust slogging through the dim bar of light that forces through the window. Every shaky breath pushes something stale into my lungs. The carpet is frayed and discolored at my feet.

My head snaps up at a low groan from some deep recess of the store. I can't make out anything in the looming shadows between uncountable spindly shelves lined up like the misshapen teeth of a colossus. Thick sheets of cobweb drift down from the warped ceiling in curtains so interlaced with one another they seem to form a twisted mockery of some alien alphabet. A streak of sweat beads down my forehead.

The headmaster collapses into a torn and stained couch by the window. A cloud of dust crosses the mottled light at his impact, sending a scattering of shapes into the space that make my head hurt. The man looks old, so much older than he did not even a moment before. Deep cracking lines cross his face and hands and his eyes have a pallor that makes me think of long frozen waters.

"Mr. Potter, I've been expecting you."

The voice is airy and expectant, a moldering shuffle of ancient paper. A chill runs through me and my heart skips. Slowly, my head turns back to the shelves to find an old man standing next to the battered countertop.

He is a hunched thing, suit as worn as the rest of the shop, too wide silver eyes locked on me from behind glasses so thick they must press painfully into his crooked nose. He slinks silently across the threadbare carpet until he stands in front of me. From here he appears centuries old, a bent puppet wrapped in stretched leather. My breath catches in my throat and my mouth is dry.

"Every wand in this shop, Mr. Potter, is waiting for the one who was meant to use it. No two are alike, and none shall work as well in another's hands as the one they are meant for."

A tape measure rolls from his gnarled claws, so worn there are no numbers left. He brings the thing up and I suppress a flinch as he runs it across my hands and arms.

"It is the wand that chooses the wizard Mr. Potter."

The man gives me a look, head cocked to one side at an unhealthy angle. It takes me a long moment to realize the tape is now wrapping its way around my head all on its own. With a snap of the mans fingers it rolls up and drops to the ground.

"Interesting."

My eye stings as the sweat runs down into it. I can't blink though. If I close my eyes in this place, in front of this man, something will happen. I know it in a way I can't explain. I watch him instead, one eye throbbing, as he pulls a box at seeming random from a nearby shelf. He approaches, far too close for comfort and every muscle in my body strains.

The lid drops onto the floor, impossibly loud for cardboard. My ears ring with the echo. With a deft flick a length of wood is in the mans hand and thrust towards me. _Nononononononono!_ I stumble back, tripping backwards and hitting the ground, scrabbling for purchase.

"Stop."

I freeze, eyes wide and body shaking. My chest feels like it might explode. The old man turns sightless eyes from me to look at the tall form of the headmaster, crooked and imposing, standing behind me.

"Albus, what is wrong with this boys magic?"


	3. Downs

Dudley used to spread rumors about me at school. Simple things when we were far younger like that I refused to bathe or would wet the bed. As we got older he got a little more creative._ Harry always misbehaves at home. Harry always switches our homework. Harry isn't allowed to eat sweets._ The last one had made it all the way to the staff and prevented me from getting any treats in class for the last few years.

Of course, you can just look at my relatives to see where that behavior comes from. Not that I don't blame Dudley on some level, no, far from it. If you decide to act like a moron because you see others doing it, it just makes you a double moron. But yes, his running slander of me after years of watching Vernon shove me about and Petunia ignore my existence isn't shocking. Par for course.

Children can be cruel, that's a fact. What's worse is how often adults turn a blind eye or just allow that behavior to slide. And when you lash out in response you only ever make them that much more certain that they were right. I know that very well.

So, for me, it comes down to a judgement call. An off the cuff evaluation of how important that person is. In the case of my Aunt and Uncle I default to keeping a civil tongue and ignoring what I can. For Dudley I mouth off if I think I can get away and ignore him when I think I can't. Teachers, I try to prove wrong. I'll punch Piers Polkiss straight in the mouth.

_So what to do here?_ The question sounds innocent enough. That tone though? That hits awful close to home from where I'm sprawled on the carpet. A leveled accusation like I broke something expensive. _Where do you sit on my scale old man?_

I can feel my muscles tense as aggravation bubbles up in my gut and my breathing evens out from the near panic levels I was at a moment ago. I run the question back in my head. _What is wrong with my magic?_ Up until today I didn't even know magic was a thing one could have. I swallow down my reflexive irritation. I focus on breathing slowly instead.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean Garrick."

Something about this place has me on edge and I'm finding it hard to keep myself on an even keel, a talent I've long since perfected. I squeeze my eyes shut and count backwards from one hundred.

"Then I insist you take a closer look. It isn't natural."

My teeth clench hard until it almost hurts. My chest feels hot, like a sunburn spreading under my shirt._ Swallow it down. Ignore him_. I count louder in my head, now by twos.

"Very well. Let us see what has you so bothered."

Beyond the numbers running backward in my head I faintly make out Dumbledore mumbling something behind me. A long stretch of silence fills the room. After a minute I calm enough that my curiosity takes over. My eyes open and I tilt my head back to look at the headmaster.

Even upside down it's not hard to read the expression of shock and sadness on the mans face. A spotted hand covers his open mouth, blue eyes looking over me without a single sign of a twinkle. His mouth closes and opens once more, searching for something to say maybe? I find myself frowning. _Well if he won't say anything, I will._

"Something you'd like to share with the class?"

It comes out a bit more biting than I intend it to. In my defense, I really don't like that look. Especially coming from a man who has up until now been very kind. His eyes focus away from what I think is my chest and move back to my eyes.

"Ahem, yes, I rather forgot myself. My apologies Mr. Potter."

I let my stare bore into his own for a long moment before giving a slow nod. I stand up, dusting my hands off on my pants as I do, sending a small plume of dust into the air. This place is so dusty. _And still very unsettling._

My gaze sweeps the front of the room once more and I'm a bit surprised to find a dusty old shop, perfectly normal. Well, mostly. The couch is still some nameless color that was once red and has certainly seen better years. The spirals of dust swirling across the bar of light from the window seem far less ominous now though.

"This is.. difficult to explain. I'm not entirely certain I understand it myself. Perhaps it would be easier to simply show you."

A deft flick of his wand and a full standing mirror appears, gleaming silver in the gloom. A slow counter clockwise motion along with a few taps and the glass ripples like water before settling to reflective stillness. Dumbledore clears his throat and steps in such a way that I can see his reflection.

Rather than the tall, colorfully robed figure with the eccentrically long beard and pointed hat, a stranger stands in the mirror. The silhouette lines up, slender and stooped, but the skin is hazy. From the tip of its toes to the crown of its head, the figure is a smoky fog of churning blue green light. A lava lamp full to bursting with shifting dull luminescence.

"This is my magic Harry. The color, how solid the light is, how quickly it moves, all those things have meaning. It's a bit outside the scope of what you need to understand, what is important is that every witch or wizard looks similar to this. Magic is part of us, filling every space with potential which can be tapped, filtered, and focused through a wand."

It's certainly a very pretty thing to see. Like a thick colored fog inside of a man shaped balloon. The headmaster steps away from the mirror, leaving room for me to step.

I'm oddly nervous to see. I only have the one example and already I'm concerned of what horror lurks within me that has the two men so distraught. _Maybe I'm empty? Maybe my fog is so thin it's barely there._ I swallow a lump in my throat.

_You didn't have magic yesterday, what does it matter if you don't have it today either?_

It's a simple thought, but it ignores so much. Yesterday I was bound for a school with a drab uniform with a predictable trajectory into a boring normal life. Yesterday all that existed was sneering looks and muttered cursing by my relatives. _Yesterday I didn't know my parents names._

I set my jaw and step forward.

_Yesterday is over. Today is mine and tomorrow could be anything._

"What the..?"

I come to a jarring halt at what the mirror reflects back at me. My silhouette is not empty like I feared. The color is not wispy or barely there. The light isn't even confined to my fingers or toes like stuck bubblegum. The image is nothing like the headmasters.

Imagine a body carefully constructed of solid glass, features etched in with painstaking precision until you've made a perfect replica. The artisan spared no time in getting everything just right, from the thin face to the ruffled hair. Every inch has been poured over until the body, my body, appears to nearly breathe.

Then imagine a hammer blow delivered to the center of the chest.

"It, I mean, I look.. shattered?"

Head to toe, whisper thin lines cover the entirety of my reflection, an intricate twisting web of pulsing rainbow light. The light isn't the foggy magic of the headmaster either, but solid glowing wires. They run like twining roots and branches from a fist sized throbbing mass in the center of my chest. The mass is jagged and irregular, a slowly beating heart of hot white brilliance.

"I am so sorry Mr. Potter. I should have looked. I should have thought to check when you were recovered that night."

My reflection raises an arm in tandem with my own movement, turning a hand over to see the thin filament of hypnotic color wrapping through splayed fingers just under the skin. I follow the path of a single bead of bright blue light run a slow path to a finger tip and back into my arm before I lose it. I clench the hand, the pattern of light twisting inward to match in a hard to look at knot.

"Recovered?"

"Yes, the night your parents died, I sent someone to check on the house and they found you in the wreckage. You appeared in good health at that time, though you had a trace of something lingering on you."

At this I pull my eyes away from the mirror and turn fully to the headmaster. His eyes are down cast and his hands are clasped. He looks very old.

"What does that mean?"

"At the time I believed you had simply been close enough to a powerful dark spell that it left a small residue. Now, however, it appears that you had taken the full spell in question. Still, this effect, the spell shouldn't have done anything like this."

The old man, who I assume to be Ollivander, pokes his head out from behind the mirror, sending a momentary rush of goosebumps up my arms in his sudden appearance. His too pale eyes look upon me for a brief moment before sweeping on to Dumbledore.

"What spell would that have been Albus? In all my years I've never seen someone's magic look so tortured."

I'm mildly offended and I have no idea why._ I think my magic looks very unique in a stained glass kind of way._ The headmaster shifts uncomfortably for a second, frowning in a way that doesn't suit his face.

"An apt choice of phrasing. It was the Lestranges that we're there that night. I have little doubt it was the cruciatius curse."

At this Ollivander's eyes widen to an almost ludicrous degree behind those thick lens glasses.

"On one so young? For what purpose? You didn't check him extensively when you suspected?"

A mix of shame and sternness cross the headmasters face then. A look reserved for one chided caught doing what they believed to be right.

"As for the reason, I cannot begin to fathom the mind of one so gone. And as I said, there were only traces, faint at that. To take a full spell from one such as her would be obvious."

"Evidently not."

As fascinating as the volleyball match before me is I'm rather lost. I've always made a point of knowing enough not to feel so talked over and it's irking me not being able to keep up. I stomp a foot down, the sound muffled by the thin carpet, but it gains their attention.

"Sorry. First day in a new world. Cruciatus?"

Dumbledore's expression darkens and his mouth draws a tight line. It's Ollivander who speaks up.

"One of three unforgivable curses. Some would say the worst one, though it's a matter of debate. A single casting will land you in Azkaban, that's our prison, for life. It's a torture curse."

_Oh. Well that sounds pretty bad._

"So a torture curse did this to me? I don't feel tortured."

Snark is a second language most children come fluent in. I may be odd but that still holds true. Dumbledore strokes his beard, eyes unfocusing in thought somewhere over my shoulder.

"To be exact, it uses your magic against your own body. By forcing the magical essence of a being to rapidly convulse, the nervous system is stimulated in its entirety. The end result triggers every pain receptor in a way that the body wouldn't normally allow."

Well when you put it that way it sound far worse. I got hit with one of those as a baby? _Did my parents?_

"So how did it do whatever it is that's wrong with me?"

More beard stroking ensues.

"I can only hazard a guess Mr. Potter. By appearances the spell struck you and your magic reacted as it normally would before condensing as tightly as possible to stop the pain."

I look back at my reflection, a hand touching the brilliant white mass in the center of my chest. I graze a finger out along one of the thin lines fraying off of it.

"So these lines are what?"

"Highly compacted magic running along the channel left behind by the spell. Your nerves."

_Which means?_ Ollivander meets my unspoken question with one of his own.

"A wizard's magic will always seek to protect them. Only someone with full control of themselves would be able to snuff out that little impulse. Tell me Mr. Potter, how have you felt since you walked in this shop?"

I don't even need to think about it. My skin is still prickling in the ominous pressure here, even if my heart rate is back to a more reasonable level. i take a moment to consider the odd almost-familiarity of the sensation. My answer comes out in a hesitant whisper that carries through the room.

"Like I'm being hunted. Like everything here is wrong and I'm going to be swallowed up at any moment."

Neither man questions the surety of my response, or the swiftness in which I give it. Which is good, I'd rather not field questions about Harry hunting today. Ollivander runs a weathered hand through his thin wisps of hair.

"I'm afraid that you may not find a wand here Mr. Potter. Nor anywhere else."

A sickly sense of disappointment churns in my stomach. _I don't understand._ I feel something well up in the back of my throat and my vision is cloudy. I blink rapidly to clear it and clench my fists hard.

"Why not?"

"Your magic is unpredictable to say the least. Not only is it under intense pressure, more pressure even than it would be upon leaving a wand, but it's following your nerves. If you touched a wand there's no telling what may happen. The wand may explode, all your magic might leave you in a tremendous blast never to return, you may experience intense pain if you attempt to cast anything as the magic runs down your nervous system!"

The color drains from my face and I feel a bit dizzy. That's a lot of potentially awful things. _Things just can't be easy for me._ Dumbledore's hand drops onto my shoulder and squeezes gently.

"Or perhaps, as you said Garrick, his magic shall do its utmost to protect him and nothing shall happen. We have no way of knowing."

"That's a very large gamble Albus, and you know it."

"Do you expect him to enter school not only without a wand, but fearing what even an accidental touch of one may do?"

I hadn't thought of that. An entire school full of children running around with what may well be tiny sticks of dynamite I could trigger by stumbling into them. That isn't even accounting for the existence of bullies. No, attending a school where one slip up could kill me would be reckless.

"I think I should take my chances."

The headmaster pats my shoulder encouragingly as Ollivander regards me with a look I can't quite place. It's something distant and measuring. The man holds his gaze on mine for a long moment, searchingly, before throwing his hands up.

"On your heads be it."

It takes a minute for the old wand maker to search the endless maze of shelves for what he must deem a suitable enough box. He places it gently on the counter and bids me closer. His expression is not a happy one, but resigned and oddly curious now.

"Pine. Ten inches. Cerberus fur. Hopefully if it detonates it won't hurt as much as a hardwood. If it pulls all your magic out though?" He shrugs. "Well, let us hope it doesn't."

He pulls the dusty lid from the cardboard, exposing a polished rod of light wood. The hair on the back of my neck raises as I look at it. My heart rate is climbing again and the shadows of the building deepen. Ollivander takes a long step back as I shuffle closer to the counter. A translucent shell unfurls between him and the counter, there enough for me to notice. I look over my shoulder to see Dumbledore nodding confidently to me.

I take a deep breath and try to ignore the pins and needles running up and down my body now that I'm standing above the open box. A slow rush of heat is filling my chest and I can feel the beginnings of sweat breaking across my forehead. My right arm raises, a hesitant motion that stalls a few inches from the wood. My hand is shaking. There's something stirring in the air just below hearing range. My heart pounds.

_Just do it!_

I close my eyes and let my hand drop into the box, fingers making contact with the wand.

One second.

Five seconds.

Thirty?

My eyes open and I find both old men crowded over the box, looking owlishly at the wand clasped lightly in my hand. The shop air feels lighter, far lighter than it did when I first set foot inside. Now it just looks slightly dusty. I clear my throat loudly, startling the two men.

"So? Have I lost my magic or something?"

Ollivander wafts a hand dismissively. The headmaster readjust his spectacles and gives the wand a hard stare. He doesn't seem overly pleased. He stands back up straight and strokes his beard.

"Perhaps if you wave it?"

The wand feels like a light stick in my hands. I raise it slowly up, wondering what exactly to do with it. Maybe a little swish through the air? I wave the thing blindly in front of me. Nothing. A sharp motion forward? Nothing. Magic words maybe?

"Abra Cadabra?"

Ollivander full body throws himself to the ground behind the counter and Dumbledore flinches, but not much else happens. I'm frustrated as I give a final half hearted wave of the thing to no result. The headmaster is staring very hard at my hand, still stroking his beard. Ollivander eases himself back up behind the counter, his hip popping loudly.

"If it helps any, the building no longer feels like it's going to eat me. Otherwise I don't think the wand is doing anything."

The old wand maker snatches the wand from my hand and places it carefully back into the box before storming off muttering between shelves. I turn to look back at the headmaster who is removing a small series of objects from his robes and placing them on the counter. I spy a few pieces of candy and a yo-yo before he holds out a small chunk of crystal triumphantly. A wave of his hand sends the small pile of things cascading back into the depths of his robes.

"I knew I had one of these still. Always good to carry, just in case."

He doesn't seem to be speaking to anyone in particular and I watch as he pulls out his own wand once more. With a few gentle taps and some muttered words there's a small pop. _Was that Latin?_ The chunk of crystal, a thing as large as my pinky finger, dangles from a thin leather cord in the air. He holds it out for me.

"Hold this my boy, I believe I may have pieced this little puzzle together."

I grab the cord curiously, disappointed as nothing seems to happen. _Perhaps I'm completely rubbish at this whole magic thing._ The crystal twirls slowly at the end of the leather, glinting ever so slightly in the light of the shop. I place a finger against a smooth edge just as Ollivander creeps out from between his shelves.

"Sonofa-!"

It's like looking into the sun. The crystal blazes into brilliant white light the moment my finger makes contact with the thing. I snap my eyes shut in pain from the sudden intensity, hearing Ollivander smack into the counter. Dumbledore laughs uproariously as I take my hand away. It takes a minute of blinking hard for the spots to disappear from my vision.

As my eyes refocus I spot Ollivander under a small pile of slim boxes behind the counter, palms digging into his face. Dumbledore is hunched over, the last of his chuckles racking his body as he wipes away a tear. I'm at a bit of a loss, holding the crystal by the leather strap away from my body like it may combust.

"I thought that may be it. Wonderful, simply wonderful!"

Ollivander extracts himself gingerly from the floor, hissing slightly through his teeth as his knee pops. Dumbledore is beaming forward, regarding the room with twinkling eyes. I conclude that he may be slightly mad.

"Your magic works my boy, even if it is a little different."

_Finally, some good news_. Though I sense a bit more behind that word _different_. Ollivander grouses as he dusts himself off, voice slightly peeved as he regards the headmaster.

"That much is blindingly obvious. Would you care to explain a bit more in depth for us?"

"Simple! How dense his magic is packed, the flow of it through his internal channels, how he retains his magic even after such a display! His magic isn't simply compressed! It's directed inwardly!"

Whatever that means, he is very excited about it.

The old wand maker rubs his temples and peers very close at me once more. His nose nearly brushes my chest. I can't help but lean back a bit as he blinks at where I know that strange fist sized hole of light is.

"So it is." He backs away, taking a final measured look at me before shaking his head. "Then I suppose Mr. Potter, there is nothing I can do for you."

That sinking feeling comes back and I rather feel like I've missed something way above my head once more. The old man is already turning away to pick up the boxes strewn about the shop. I feel my fists clench slightly.

"What do you mean?"

There's a hint of something bordering melancholy or resignation in my voice instead of the petulance I expect. Like you already know the answer.

Ollivander turns to me and frowns, looking almost as upset as I feel.

"Wands choose wizards Mr. Potter. Your magic isn't suitable for a wand. You cannot cast, it will not work for you like that. So I am sorry to say, but I cannot help you."

I look pleadingly to Dumbledore, an ache so solid it feels as a punch to the gut. That twinkle of joy on his face drops at my expression. The man simply nods to me and holds out a hand. I cannot bring myself to take it as we turn to the door.

The light tinkle of the bell as we exit rings flat in my ears.


	4. Sideways

The trip through the alley is a bit of a blur. I keep my head down for most of it, pacing silently behind Dumbledore like some kind of scolded child. Seeming to sense my shift in mood, the headmaster keeps the occasional halting for conversation with strangers brief but polite. I hardly notice as I'm directed into a plain chair inside of a sweet smelling place.

Ice cream?

The sign on the counter reads Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor in looping letters of shifting color. Earlier this morning I would have smiled at that, now I just heave a sigh of disappointment. Dumbledore silently pushes a menu towards me from across the table.

"I appreciate it, I just don't think I'm in the mood right now. My relatives also say I'm not allowed to have sweets."

The headmaster flips open his own menu, the thing unfurling like a scroll to the floor. He regards me with a surreptitious eye and checks his left and right side before peeking under the table. I can't help but peer about for whatever it is he's looking for. The man chuckles as I pull out my chair to see our feet, noting that somehow both our feet manage to dangle.

"That may be so my boy, but I believe they aren't here at the moment. Besides, I've always found that sweets are just the thing when the day goes a bit sideways. Most adults would do well to remember that I think."

Images of throwing chocolate bars at Vernon as he thunders about the house ranting after a meeting gone poorly fill my head. I can feel the corners of my mouth tilting and I do my best to quash it. I won't be pulled out of my mood that easily.

I make a passing attempt at skimming over the menu, recognizing only a handful of flavors, having some idea of a few others, and can only begin to imagine what a Dragon fire cherry mercury drop actually is. The majority of the list is an insane combination of words I don't think make much sense together. How can an ice cream be every flavor anyway? I resolve to get something simple to hurry things along.

The headmaster appears to have different ideas. A cheery man, dressed in a colorful robe and apron combo, comes around to take our order. As I pretend to read back over the menu the headmaster manages to order a sampling of what sounds like half the flavors in the store. At each one, the man waves his wand, a dollop careening from behind his counter to land in front of the headmaster. I try not to stare too hard at his wand from behind my menu.

"And for you young man? Maybe something a bit exotic! The headmaster here has good taste in ice cream and I'd wager anyone he's got keeping him company should be about the same!"

The mans smile is preposterously beaming and what most people would find to be mildly infectious. He stands there patiently for the panicked minute I need to go back over the scroll in my hand, now under the microscope to pick something suitably not boring. I shift uncomfortably under the close scrutiny.

"I'll have the orange uh, dream fog?"

Completely random and hopefully strange enough that he won't bother me about it. I have no idea what to expect as the mans wand waves once more and a tin bowl comes flying out from the back. I'm almost disappointed when I see what looks to be orange and vanilla ice cream. The man grins heartily though, eyes still locked on me. I take a tentative spoonful of the stuff, hoping he'll go away.

I'm expecting creamsicle, or something passingly similar. Instead what I taste is some foggy idea almost but not quite like fresh orange juice that leaves a tingle on my tongue. The next breath I take leaves a shimmering fog in hazy orange across the table. Both the headmaster and the man clap merrily at the display. Wizards sure are something else.

I go slowly through my bowl of bizarre ice cream silently as the headmaster digs through the cluttered collection of tiny bowls and spoons weighing down his side of the table. I wonder how that looks to an outside observer. Headmaster of a school gorging on a mound of ice cream across from a scrawny boy blowing rings of orange fog. Not so unusual here from what I've seen of the alley.

The headmaster is long since finished by the time I'm stirring around the last of the melted ice cream in my bowl. I try to give a smile but my face can't quite manage it and I probably look a bit pained.

"What is wrong my boy? Another flavor perhaps?"

I shake my head slowly, the spoon making a low scraping sound as it travels about the bowl. I really don't think I can stomach any more ice cream.

"Then what is wrong?"

He appears genuinely confused and I'm a little frustrated that he doesn't get it. I push the bowl away and rest my face in my hand. I can't meet his gaze as I speak.

"Sir, today was certainly something, I just feel like maybe I should be getting back home now. I've probably used up enough of your time for no reason."

"But we still have a lot of shopping to accomplish. And I believe I did say that we would be finding an alternative for the remainder of the summer. Your relatives were very insistent on that."

So I've been kicked out as well? Well that certainly tops the day. One thing at a time though.

"Not much point in continuing to shop though, is there?"

"I'm not certain I follow my boy."

The man is quirky, but up until now he seemed rather sharp. He also doesn't sound like he's playing ignorant out of any kind of malice. Maybe I'm just bad at reading him though. I just get straight to the point.

"Well I can't go to Hogwarts, can I? I haven't got a wand."

My eyes are locked on the table so I can't see his expression in the silence. I do notice as the table moves a bit. And then I hear a snort. I look up to find the old man trying desperately to stifle his laughter, body shaking slightly with the effort. My eyes sting a bit. Maybe he was being cruel.

"Sorry, sorry my boy. Is that all you're concerned about?"

My eyebrow arches dangerously. How is that not a concern?

"Rest assured, despite its listing as a requirement, not all magic depends upon a wand. You will still attend Hogwarts as a student."

"But how will I cast magic? All day long I've seen people using wands to do this and that. Even Ollivander said I'd never use one."

"Garrick could have been a bit more delicate, but I believe he didn't intend for you to take anything he said as cruel. No, perhaps I should explain a bit more about your magic from what I can see. You still have the crystal yes?"

I dig about in my pocket where I had shoved the thing before we left. A sliver of daylight leaks through a particularly worn out patch in my jeans as my fingers brush the cool mineral. I pluck the thing out by the cord and let it dangle loosely from my hand.

"That little chunk of quartz there, I cast a simple spell on it in a most complicated way. Certain minerals have a fantastic ability to hold the pattern of a spell within them if you know how to go about it. There are arts which take advantage of that which you may find interesting."

The headmaster places a finger tip against the crystal and I can make out the shallowest glimmer of light dancing from within the lines of the prism. It's so faint that if I wasn't looking for it I probably wouldn't have noticed.

"In this case the spell captured within is the lumos charm. A simple light spell. Any time magic contacts this crystal, that magic will be shaped into the lumos charm and give off light. This is typically useless, as a wizards skin doesn't conduct magic all that well, nor is it concentrated enough to create more than a small shine. Even using my wand to passively condense my magic it still isn't as bright as your own."

The headmaster pulls his wand and gives a gentle tap on the crystal, the heart of it lighting up as the tip of his wand contacts it. I note that it isn't the blinding cascade of light my touch would create, but certainly intense enough that I need to squint. The spark gutters out as he removes his wand.

"This is why wizards require wands. They help to condense and shape magic into a spell. It is only through concentration and practice that one might be able to cast a spell without one. You however, are different. Your magic is excessively concentrated to begin with. It also has something of a back flow and seems most reluctant to leave the comfort of your body. You may not have been able to see but as you waved that wand about it simply refused to travel out of it."

"So my magic doesn't want to go anywhere?"

Dumbledore nods in agreement.

"Something I believe many witches and wizards overlook is that beyond helping to shape spells and condense enough magic to make those spells work, in truth a wand simply provides one with range. Wands once let us toss spells across battlefields, but there was a time when magic was a much closer thing to use. You should have all the power you need to shape a full spell, what you'll lack is any distance casting. That's a bit of a hurdle, though in the modern day I feel we may place to much importance on convenience."

Some pressure in my chest I've had since Ollivander's loosens at that. The crystal sways between us and I resist the urge to touch the thing so I don't blind myself. It's proof though. Not quite a wand, but still proof that I have magic and that I can use it. Somehow.

"Okay, but without a wand or anything how will I cast spells? Do I just use crystals or something?"

"Oh no, that would be an awful idea. Lumos is as benign as a spell comes and yours is nearly dangerous. I have no idea how you'll go about using your magic."

And like that my mood drops once more.

"I am however very confident that if you study and practice, you will find your answer. I look forward to seeing it myself."

My general disposition is switching so quickly it's hard to keep up. We leave the shop in generally higher spirits though, and as I careful place the little crystal back into my pocket my hand bumps something I had forgotten about in all the excitement.

My little wooden owl flutters out in dizzy circles as we walk the alley buzzing like a humming bird. I can't help the grin that stretches my face as it smacks into Dumbledore's beard and gets tangled. He pretends not to notice as it chirps and pecks at a few long strands.

"So where are we off to then headmaster? The book store? I guess I need my uniform? Do I have to wear the hat the whole time?"

The man chuckles beside me as he sets the pace down the alley.

"No, you don't have to wear the hat the entire time. That would make bathing quite difficult I believe. Our first stop shall be to get you a trunk. No sense getting all your supplies and trying to wedge them within your bag I think."

The alley feels far more friendly then it did on the way to the ice cream shop. I find my eyes once more drifting between multicolored store fronts and the strange people bustling about the alley. I have to play catch up with Dumbledore as I get distracted attempting to peer over the top of a barrel marked eel eyes.

A worn out sign catches my eye as we reach an intersection in the alley. From this distance I can barely make out the work Junk gouged into the old wood. A bubble of excitement rises up in my chest and I give the headmasters sleeve a tug, stopping him from continuing on.

"The Junk Shop? A second hand store. I believe most of the items are a bit mishandled at best."

"All the best things are second hand. Usually a quarter of the price and just as good as new if you put in some work. Surely they have trunks."

I give my best doe eye expression. His unflinching gaze tells me that he's probably been on the receiving end of a good share of those. He gives in with a small snort and a shrug after a moment though. I practically skip into the shop.

I've been to my share of consignment shops and one antique store beyond that. Maybe more out of necessity at first, but I eventually came to love them for the gold mines they tend to be. People get rid of the strangest things, and I'm not one to look a gift horse in the mouth when I stumble across some under valued dusty treasure.

As I open the battered door, I find myself grinning. The Junk Shop is closer to an antique store than it is a consignment shop, in that everything in the place looks at least a century older than I am. What is it that Vernon always said? They don't make things to last anymore, all the best stuff you have to find second hand if you want good craftsmanship. A very rare point of agreement between him and I.

I'm fairly dusty about an hour later when I can sense Dumbledore would like to move along to other shops. He seemed happy enough to explain all the strange and unrecognizable objects I shifted through though, which was extremely helpful. All told, the battered trunk that was enchanted to be quite a bit lighter than normal that currently held my bag and other purchases was probably the least interesting thing I'd dug up.

I've never owned a leather working kit before, and the portable smithy kit was definitely worth the handful of sickles I shelled out for it. By far the most undervalued find was an old collection of out of print subjects no longer taught at Hogwarts. The headmaster insisted the library had several copies floating about but there's something about an old book with hand written notations that I can't pass up. Either way, a complete steal for three knuts.

My wooden owl tucks itself sleepily into my tangled hair as we step back out into the alleyway. I'm not looking far ahead as we step out and I find myself suddenly sprawling face first across the cobblestones. Did a wall just walk into me?

"Sorry there, up ya get."

I'm small, but I'd like to think I weigh enough even after the years of subpar food that someone can't simply toss me. That thought vanishes as I'm hefted like a feather by the giant of a man I had just stumbled into. I need to crane my neck uncomfortably, even suspended a good foot off the ground, to look the mountain in the face.

Vernon Dursley had always struck me as a large man. Tall enough to complain about old door frames, wide enough to do the same. Vernon would have to look up at this man. The single massive hand holding me aloft by the collar feels as large as my head. He is hefty enough that squeezing through even modern doors probably requires some maneuvering, ignoring the low stoop he would require to even attempt to step through one. His eyes are dark and kind though, sitting above ruddy red cheeks and a tangled brown beard that matches the bird nest of a haircut on his head.

The man places me down gently, far more gently than someone his size has any right to operate at. He shifts silently as I stare open mouthed. The fabric of his thick coat strains as he reaches an arm down to scratch at his belly.

"Hagrid, what brings you to the alley today?"

The headmaster closes the door of the Junk Shop behind him with a small snap. The man knows everyone! The giant shifts and straightens up, appearing for a moment even taller if possible.

"Ah, Professor! Just pickin upa few supplies for the castle. Hoping ta find something to draw in tha unicorn fer Kettleburn actually. Only catchin stray hairs abou the forest but she's gettin closer lately."

A unicorn? Is there anything in this world that isn't real?

"That's wonderful Hagrid, I'm certain Professor Kettleburn will appreciate the effort. I was just about to bring young Harry out to the apothecary, perhaps they'll have something there."

Hagrid looks about for a moment before his gaze settles on me. He looks distant for a moment, scratching at his beard with a massive hand.

"Harry aye? Not a student I know of, though you do look familiar."

"His first year actually. I decided to take on a few of the introductions to the magical world this year. You do know him though, after a fashion. He is James and Lily's son."

That sparks something in the man and his expression widens briefly into a cheerful smile. He stoops and looks me up and down, though even at a lean he towers over me I don't think it helps much.

"Well I'll be. Haven't seen you since you weren't much bigger than my hand. Spitting image of your father, straight down ta the glasses. Lily's eyes though. Damn shame wha happened tha night. Took you straight to Dumbledore myself actually."

Dumbledore had mentioned someone bringing me to him that night. Even at one year old I'd think I'd remember traveling about with someone like this though. My face settles on a polite smile.

"I don't exactly remember, but thank you for that? It's nice to properly meet you."

A dusting of red crosses the man's face under the beard, far less intimidating a shade than what I'm used to with Vernon.

"Ah, weren't nothing anyone else woulda done. The Professor sent me over the moment he heard somethin happened. He's a great man, always got an eye out fer others."

I nod respectfully at that. I may not know all that much about the headmaster, but he's certainly been kind all morning. My little wooden owl flutters off my head at my nodding, squeaking and fluttering about. It loops through the air and aims for a higher perch, in this case Hagrid's shoulder.

"And what's this? Already got yerself a familiar have ya?"

"Oh no, sorry. The headmaster spelled it to move earlier and it seems to enjoy landing on everything in sight."

Hagrid plucks the figurine off his shoulder between his fingers eliciting a small squawk. He turns the owl about admiringly for a moment before handing it back. I let it tuck back into place on my head where it fidgets a bit before settling.

"Mighty fine carving work on that. Good wit your hands then? Not enough of those up at the school!"

I nod along in embarrassment. I'm not used to praise of any sort, especially not on my hobbies. It's a little strange being on this side of it when I usually just have to sit and hear about Dudley all day. Even if most of that praise is for not failing tests.

"I've been whittling for a few years. Keeps me busy and I like doing things with my hands. It's not really all that impressive."

"Nonsense. You got a good eye fer detail. Haven't the control fer it myself. Hard to do the small stuff with mits this big though. Anyway, you two were off to the apothecary? Don't mind one more do ya?"

"Not at all Hagrid, I'm certain Mr. Potter wouldn't mind the additional company."

Others in the alley give us a wide berth as we move along. It probably has less to do with the strange company and more to do with the sheer amount of space Hagrid takes up in the cobble street. We maintain a steady stream of conversation as we make our way to the apothecary. I learn a surprising amount about the forest surrounding Hogwarts and its denizens on the trip. Hagrid is a font of information on magic beasts.

"They're just like tha garden variety really, just a heap bigger. Tramp in a few times a year to gather their silk. Good stuff fer makin robes and tha like. Bit too delicate fer me to use."

Acromantula sound equal parts fascinating and horrifying. Not the sort of spider I'd consider keeping around. Not fully grown anyway.

The apothecary is a cramped little store with a smell that I couldn't pin down well enough to describe. I spent a fair amount of time insistently going through the knife sets trying to find one that looked well balanced. I toss in an extra sickle for a sharpening kit without any hesitation. Nothing is worse than dull knives when you're depending on exact cuts. I know that full well between cooking and carving.

Hagrid bids the headmaster and I farewell as we move on from the apothecary, a small bag of fragrant herbs tucked under an arm. I watch the man lumber away back to the plain brick wall denoting the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

Our next stop seems like something of an odds and ends shop. I've never been much of a star gazer myself, the hobby runs a bit more expensive then I can readily manage outside of trying to grind my own lenses. I still take a minute or two to appreciate the intricate telescopes on display with dozens of knobs and extra functions. A pocket sized one even makes the outlandish claim of being able to see out to Pluto.

"If you don't mind Harry, I'm going to just drop you off here. I have a small thing to arrange and the Madame has a tendency to take her time."

"The Madame?"

A well lit store front stands before us, large windows displaying posing mannequins dressed in robes with slight variations. One of them blows me a kiss and waves which feels a little strange without a face. A long ribbon curls below the mannequins shifting about between the words Madam Malkin's and Robes For All Occasions.

The headmaster pushes me through the door, a little bell shining somewhere in the back of the shop as he scurries back out and down the alley before I can protest. I barely have the time to open my mouth to try and call after the man before I feel a chill run up my spine. I turn to find a statuesque woman in frilly robes poking her head out from a back door.

"Oh that man never stays long enough for me to get him into new robes. First year deary?"

The woman is grabbing a tape measure and a container of pins from beneath the counter summoning a bolt of cloth and a dummy robe with her wand simultaneously. A young lady, maybe a year or so out of school sits behind the counter reading a magazine, looking up just long enough to smile briefly before returning to her reading.

"Come come. Must be Muggleborn as well judging by what you're waltzing about in. Let's see if we can find something a bit more wizardly for you."

If all wizard clothing is meant to be distractingly vibrant and mismatched as I've seen I'm not entirely sure I want that. I pluck a bit of loose shirt from my chest. Then again, something that fits me without tailoring down five sizes might be nice.

I find myself practically dragged into the back room, an octagonal space with floor to ceiling mirrors that makes me both uncomfortable and slightly dizzy. A wave of the madams wand sends the tape measure to work running lengths around my body. I note a quill stand at attention over some parchment, rapidly jotting numbers as the tape flies about. It's disquietingly similar to Ollivander's shop, without the oppressive atmosphere.

I do my best to stand still as the woman bustles about, draping an overly large cloak over me and pinning it all about. She moves onto a tall pointed hat about a minute later. A few touch ups here and there, some minor pinning and she stands back.

"Voila!"

Well, it certainly looks wizardly? The hat is a bit ridiculous as I thought it would be and the cloak seems the sort of thing that will get in the way without sleeves. Over all not awful though. And far shorter than Dumbledore made it sound.

"Uh, great. Looks very swishy? I guess I just need a couple of these right?"

The young girl has popped into the back room at some point and is gathering the parchment with my measurements. I meet her eyes in one of the mirrors as she looks up and gives a loud snort. The Madam drops a hand with very polished red nails across my shoulder.

"Oh no deary, that's just the outer wear. You still need the winter cloak. And the clothes under that as well. You didn't think everyone dallied about starkers under their cloaks did you?"

Well that doesn't sound all that bad.

It's about an hour later when I start to believe that yes, it really is bad. I can stitch a pair of jeans. I can tailor shirts and sew buttons and fix hems and all sorts of things as necessary. I have never been concerned before about layering and thickness of pin stripes or tie thickness. I have certainly never gone through thirty shades of white before looking for one that doesn't make me look overly pale. The woman even made a point of making me try differently patterned socks to see which would fit features best!

I am thoroughly disgruntled by the time Madam Malkin has declared me finished. Her assistant, who has up until now mostly darted about grabbing different materials and holding them against others near my skin, gives me one last look over besides the madam. I try not to blush as she ruffles my hair and declares me as cute as a button.

Overall the uniform doesn't look all that bad, though it is a little tighter than I'm comfortable with. Polished black boots, dark slacks, a white button up shirt and a tie. Throw a cloak over all that and apparently that's what I'll be working in for the upcoming year. As I get scooted back up front I make a point of taking off the cloak and putting it and my extra uniforms into my trunk.

Whole get up still feels constricting. I loosen the knot in the tie as the assistant rings me up. The sleeves of the shirt get rolled up straight to my elbows as well. The young lady watches me with a serious look as I finally untuck the think altogether. I give her a big grin as I feel far less choked now. She rolls her eyes and accepts my payment letting me stroll out without further molestation.

The headmaster is waiting for me just outside, somehow failing to be ridiculously visible in his bright robes until I let my gaze wander searching for him. I give him a flat look as he laughs at my now far more messy hair and newly disheveled uniform.

"I did say it would take awhile."

"You didn't say I'd be modeling underwear."

I went with boxers, though I did put my foot down at keeping them in normal colors and without added moving effects. Even if the pair that had a moving beach scene were rather interesting.

"All necessities at a cost my boy. You only have to bother with the uniform during classes and feasts anyway."

I feel lied to.

"I believe we have two more stops for today my boy, unless you'd like to go back in for some casual wear as well."

I do not feel like going back in that shop. I would sooner find a second hand store and not play the part of a mannequin thank you. I give a sarcastic bow and gesture for the headmaster to lead the way.

Our next stop is only half a street down and as we draw near a bit of a skip develops in my step. I've been waiting for this in particular. A close second to getting a wand but I feel as though this at least has very little chance of being disappointing. I attempt to maintain a slow enough pace for Dumbledore to keep up, though he drags once or twice as random shoppers attempt to chat.

At long last though, here we are. I take a long slow breath as we enter the shop, lungs filling with the crisp scent of paper and ink. Flourish and Blotts is a tidy well lit spot with row after row of books. Far larger than the little public library I'd spend hours in back home, and full of an entire world of knowledge I could only begin to imagine. Dumbledore places a steady hand on my shoulder before I can zip off.

"Now, as I can see I'll be losing you very swiftly in here let me give you a small word of advice. Your school books will all be up front together. Stick to the ones you need for this year only on those. As for everything else, if you find something interesting feel free to bring it to me and I'll let you know if the castle has a copy."

Fair deal. I grab a basket and vanish with a serious nod. I begin with the school books, finding them up front as the headmaster had stated. I quick gloss over the introductions of each gives a bit of inkling on the core classes for the year. Transfiguration sounds like crafting without tools, potions sounds like cooking, One thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi leads me to believe I'll be doing something close to gardening.

From there I skitter off into the first specific section I can find. I have a bit of a system when it comes to books. Start broad, then narrow down to the specifics where possible. The first year book list appears to be reference books and introductions. So as I wander down the aisle marked Potions what I'm looking for is something a bit more in depth.

Introductory texts are all well and good, but I've always found that to keep the reader engaged in a new subject or craft, those books shy away from a lot of the whys. Why use this type of screw, why use this type of wood? It's all well and good to learn things by rote, but it isn't until you can answer the why that you can ever really learn a thing. At least that's how I see it.

I walk away with a reference guide that breaks down everything from grind styles to temperature tables about as thick as my arm. From there I move onto the aisle for transfiguration. Where as potions seems a fairly physical practice, I'm not certain what to expect here. A slim volume on exercises to bolster speediness and clarity in transfigurations joins the basket.

Thirty minutes going through the massive charms section yields very little in the way of helpful texts. I do add a small volume called Enchanting Enchantments which appears to contain what it calls simple charms meant to be applied to home objects. It has nothing to do with the hair untangling charm meant for hair brushes listed on the third page, nor the one that when applied to a tap produces hot water.

A quick flip through my history text reveals a lot about ancient magical history. I therefore make a point to find a short volume that goes over the last fifty years specifically. From here I have no real direction and find myself browsing. A book on magical patents joins my pile. A slim volume titled How do spells work? joins as well.

It's a small section in the back end of the store that catches my eye. After all, how could I possibly pass up an entire aisle labeled magic, wandless/esoteric? The contents fill out a single sparse row of dusty looking leather numbers, all on the thin side. I'm flipping through a text delving into some very complicated looking transfiguration theory titled The Animal Inside when I feel a tap on my shoulder.

"An interesting read, though not especially helpful from what I hear. Find everything you're looking for my boy?"

I tip my head back to see the headmaster smiling down at me. I let the book snap shut in my hands and slide it back onto the shelf.

"I'm sure I haven't, but I can always say that in a bookstore."

"Couldn't have said it better myself my boy. Let's see what you've picked out."

I continue glancing over the shelf as Dumbledore looks over my selection.

Rhythm and Measure seems interesting, though I'm having a hard time picturing singing a table into existence so it goes back on the shelf. Likewise a primer named Sympathetic Magic is poked through before being returned. Something about crafting voodoo dolls out of collected cast offs makes me a bit queasy. I'm thumbing over a manuscript entitled Symbological Applications when the headmaster chimes in.

"Interesting choices here. Are you particularly concerned about how the basics will be covered?"

"No, I'm sure if I have any questions during the year the Professors will answer them. I just always think it's best to shore up a foundation I guess."

The headmaster nods along at that and doesn't comment further on my choices. I suppose they're basic enough that even if the castle has several copies he agrees enough with the point not to put anything back. He does however reach out and snag a volume near the end of the row and hand it over to me.

"Meditations?"

"Consider it a good place to start for your foundation. Power without control is wasteful. Beyond that it should help you with just about any subject you see fit to pursue."

The book is thin like everything else on this shelf, and from a peek inside has several diagrams and not all too much else. Not my usual choice of read, but I'll take the mans word. It joins the basket. After a moment of hesitation so does Symbological Applications.

"Any other suggestions?"

Dumbledore thinks it over for a moment before shaking his head, beard flapping this way and that before he tucks it back into his belt.

"For now I believe you've given yourself quite enough reading. If during the course of the year you should stumble upon any other topics of interest I'm certain that the library will prove most able to meet your needs."

"Then I believe, reluctantly mind you, that I'm ready to pay for these books."

At the counter there's a surprisingly short line, and for the first time since entering the alley I spot what I believe to be a student. He's young, probably right around my age in fact, though maybe an inch or two taller. I note that he's also wearing the school uniform, though his is still properly arranged. I try not to laugh as he pulls at his collar. Besides him an old woman swats at his hand chidingly before turning about in line to face me with a frown.

"Augusta my dear, it has been far too long."

Whatever this old lady was about to say to me gets lost as he eyes dart straight to Dumbledore. I'm expecting a sudden smile and pleasantries as I've been seeing all day. If anything her frown actually deepens.

"I'll thank you not to be so familiar. I'm hardly a student anymore and you'd do well to remember that."

The boy in front of me stiffens a bit and takes a very hesitant glance backwards. I need to bite my lip to stop my laughter at this point. If the dressing down has affected the headmaster any he doesn't appear to show it.

"Ah but to me it feels not so long ago at all. However, I shall try to remember."

The woman gives a sharp nod and I can't help but notice the tall hat perched on her head shifting slightly. Is that a vulture? I feel my owl figurine tumble off my shoulder and dart into a pocket as I lock eyes with the giant thing.

"Getting ahead of shopping for the upcoming year I see?"

"Would have been earlier if you'd send the lists at the end of the school year instead of making everyone wait."

I can't take my eyes off the giant bird, which is so realistic I'm almost positive it must be taxidermy. That's something I've read about but found suitably gross enough to never want to pursue. Who wants to scoop animal guts out of a thing and stuff it full of sawdust? To what end? To make strange hats?

"I see you've brought along a first year today. Haven't seen any others in the alley so far. Who might you be?"

It takes a lot of effort to peel my eyes off the vulture staring down at me, though when I do the woman's gaze has softened considerably. She probably has some idea of how distracting her headwear is and chooses not to take my staring as offensive. I notice her outstretched hand and grasp it, noting the strangely solid grip she has.

"Potter, sorry, uh Harry Potter ma'am. Pleasure to meet you."

She looks at me with an evaluating glance, taking in what I know to be a very ruffled appearance. Again, if she has anything to say about the state of my uniform she refrains. I receive a tip of her head in response.

"Harry Potter is it? Your father was a good friend to my son Frank back in the day. A good man, I hope you will follow in his footsteps. I am Dowager Longbottom. Neville? Say hello to your new classmate."

The boy in front of me squeaks a bit before rapidly turning. I have to bend and shift myself back half a step as his basket nearly catches my stomach. A blush creeps it's way up the boys neck as he notices. I hold out a hand as he fumbles with the basket, shifting it into his left hand so he can shake mine properly.

"I'm uh, it's good to meet you. Neville. I'm uh, Neville."

The boys grip is not nearly as tight as the lady's. It's also a little clammy, though I don't particularly mind. I give a good firm shake regardless alongside a small smile. Once I let go Neville's hand darts back and he frets with his bangs for a moment to flatten them.

"Same to you Neville. I'm Harry. I guess this is your first year as well?"

The line moves forward and the Dowager Longbottom snatches the basket from Neville. He shifts for a moment, almost turning to the counter before deciding to keep facing me. I get a small nod of confirmation.

"It is, yeah. Not really sure what to expect. Gran won't say a word about the sorting or anything."

Now there's something I haven't heard of yet. I tip my gaze to Dumbledore, my eyes rolling as he makes a point of gazing about into empty space. Looks as though I won't be finding out about that one either.

"Yeah, so much as I'd think shopping with the Headmaster would help, he's surprisingly lacking on certain answers. I'm just excited to be learning magic though."

Neville's eyes widen slightly and for what must be the first time he takes in my company. True to form the headmaster takes that moment to tune back in on the conversation and gives a wide smile and a nod.

"Are you really?"

Evidently Dumbledore is quite the figure in the Wizarding world. He's certainly impressive and helpful. I don't think I quite grasp the scope of his importance though. First day in a new world and all that.

"Ah yes, where are my manners? Albus Dumbledore, a pleasure to meet you. I hope you're looking forward to the upcoming year?"

Neville gives a faint nod, mouth searching for something to say. I decide to give him an out.

"Of course he is! Who wouldn't want to go to a castle to learn magic? Right Neville?"

The boys eyes lock on me and he manages a much firmer shake of his head this time around. I give a small grin which get returned a bit more shakily.

"Of course. I'm hoping to learn a lot sir."

The headmaster give a thoughtful nod of his own, once more stroking his beard. He leans down between the two of us and gives a conspiratorial look to the dowager who is now paying.

"Just keep in mind, you may be there to learn but the most important thing is to make friends and enjoy your time."

Neville gives a very serious nod this time around. I'm a little less sure of that one, but I'm glad he seems inclined to believe it. I've never really had friends, not exactly sure what I'm supposed to be doing with one anyway. Forgetting entirely the vast new world in front of me now. I'll keep it in mind though.

"Come along Neville, we still have a few more shops. Mr. Potter, it was a pleasure to meet you. Professor."

I give a cheerful wave as Neville scrambles over to his grandmothers side and exits the store. He seems like a good guy, if a bit nervous. Then again, with an old lady like that around I'd probably be on my toes all day as well.

I pay at the register, leaving my little bag of coins mostly empty now. Digging through it I'm glad that it's at least mostly sickles and a couple galleons. Things are a bit less expensive then I'd expect. I could probably swing back to the Junk Shop if there's time. I think I saw a second hand book shop as well. Best to save though I suppose.

The alleyway is far less crowded now, and the sun is starting to lower across the open sky above us. I almost can't believe how much time we've spent out here. It's barely felt like anything at all.

"Just one more shop Mr. Potter."

I go over the supply list in my head once more and can't think of anything we may have missed. Certainly nothing off the top of my head anyway. I pull the letter out of my pocket and skim it, finding nothing.

"We have everything we need though sir. Unless there's something not on here?"

We're walking back towards the Leaky Cauldron as I'm going over the letter attempting to puzzle out what I still need. Dumbledore's hand stops me in my blind walk forward in front of a very loud shop. The sign says Eeylops Owl Emporium.

"Consider it an early birthday present. You are permitted a familiar at school after all."

I'm at a loss for words and feeling a little bit misty. I simply bite my lip and nod, not trusting my voice. I allow the man to lead me into the cacophony of the shop.

We walk out a few minutes later, my arms wrapped tight around a wire cage containing a curious snowy white owl the shop owner kept insisting was a menace. I couldn't even help myself from deciding there and then that I'd be taking her with me. I nearly gave the man a heart attack when I swung the cage open to let her flap out onto my arm with a curious chirp. It was only Dumbledore's later insistence that I put her back until I knew for certain she wouldn't get spooked away that I placed her back in.

I refused to latch the door either way.

Dumbledore and I take seats at the small bar of the Leaky Cauldron, my owl cage taking a place of honor next to me. If it looks like my hand doesn't stray too far away it's simply because I don't want it to get bumped.

An early dinner sits before us, Dumbledore selecting the meatloaf, I go with a pot roast that I can smell as I walk into the place. I make a point of mixing all my peas into the mashed potatoes, something the Dursleys never allowed at the table. Something about playing with my food.

We settle in comfortable silence and finish dinner. This leaves me feeling more awkward than anything. I place a finger besides the cage, my new snowy white owl nipping at it gently.

"Thank you."

Dumbledore sits straighter in his chair, the only sign he gives that he hears me. I don't really want to look at him, focusing instead on Tom polishing glasses further down the bar. He does the whole thing by hand, though I spot his wand in his pocket.

"Today was definitely the best one I've had in a very long time. Probably ever. You didn't have to take me around or help me or anything but you did. So, y'know, thanks for that."

My owl gives a hoot and fixes me with a wide eyed amber stare.

"And of course, for the owl. I've never really gotten a birthday present before, but I think if I had, she would still be the best one."

His hand comes down gently across my shoulder, patting softly. I stubbornly refuse to look near him, my eyes swimming a bit and my throat suddenly tight.

"You do not need to thank me Mr. Potter. Today was something you deserved, far more than you know. This old man is glad to have had your company on what has become a far too rare trip away from the castle. So thank you my boy."

I'm not crying. And if the silence is broken by anything like a hiccup in the next couple minutes, it is certainly not from me. I blame allergies for the sudden need to blow my nose as well. I take a drink of water that at some point has appeared on the bar in front of me.

"Now, I believe it is about time to discuss your arrangements for the remainder of the summer."

I'm all ears.


	5. Limbo and Learning

I've been waiting patiently in line for a few minutes now, my face finally cooling from the hot blush I've had since I wandered out into the alley today. I keep my gaze locked firmly ahead of me, ignoring the distant cooing of an old woman who spots me from between the racks of ingredients. Never again. Should have just cut it all off before leaving.

The line bumps forward one and it's finally my turn, the old gentleman at the counter peering down at me quizzically. He looks around for a parent or guardian but I'm the only one left in line. I don't have a basket of purchases or any loose ingredients in my hands either, so I understand the confusion.

"Need help finding something?"

I lean in, trying to keep my voice at a bit of a hush.

"Do you have anything you can use to test a potion? Like what it's supposed to do and stuff?"

"You could spell it, it's what most do. Usually ruins the potion though. Also got potion strips, though reading them is a bit hard if you don't know what you're looking at. Got some of them right up here to your left actually."

I figure that it's always good to have a back up and I figure I wouldn't want to rely on a spell that ruins a whole potion so I grab a testing kit from the counter. Hopefully they come with instructions. I place the kit down in front of the man and reach into my back pocket drawing out a crystal vial full of a smoky blue substance stopped up with a wax seal.

"Any chance you know the spell?"

The old man takes out his wand, and nods holding out a hand for the vial. I pass it over to him, careful not to let it drop or I'd be running back to collect more from my cauldron. A long mumbled string of Latin and a flash proceed a glimmering display of small letters spitting out of the mans wand.

"Hair lengthener. Looks like a good batch, I'd say maybe steeped a bit long on the third step. Should work fine though."

I nod along. I had started counting a bit late after adding the crushed holly. Otherwise I was nearly a hundred percent sure I'd brewed this one correctly. Which just raises more questions.

"Nothing else weird about it? Doesn't seem any stronger than a normal batch or anything?"

"Naw, if anything the extra steep time weakened it. Too many tannins."

I take back the vial and ask after the instructions for the testing kit, the old man digging out a small booklet from under the counter before ringing me up cheerfully. I pass over a couple sickles without complaint, eager to head back and figure out what I did wrong with this one.

"I wouldn't use that potion anymore. Like I said, spelling it tends to sour the batch. Might make your hair curl. Though I don't know why you'd need it, most girls your age would call it quits at knee length."

I feel my cheeks redden again. I should have cut the whole mess off before entering the alley. I give a nod and rush out, nearly getting caught in the door as it shuts. Should have let Mopsy braid it at least. How do girls walk around with all this hair in the way?

The walk back is a quick one, and I'm already digging my key out as I turn down Vertic Alley. Foot traffic here is far more sparse than in Diagon, and I'm thankful if only so I'm not dodging through as many legs. One of the girls who works at the flower shop across from the apartments snickers as she spots me dashing passed.

"Looking a little rushed there little Potter! Leave the kettle on?"

I stick my tongue out at her, not even breaking stride to do so. Mrs. Duffy pokes her head out her window as she hears the girl shouting. I ignore the tutting she makes as I walk on, smiling a bit as I hear her husband shouting about letting out all the cool air. She woman gives me and the girl across the way a sharp look before snapping the window shut.

I make my way up the steps two doors down from the Duffy's and count locks. The silver one four up the row is mine and I slot the key in, twisting it and pulling the lock down and through. With a near silent rumble the door besides me shifts and travels downwards, the building itself shifting into the ground until my door is level with the step. I pull my key out of the lock and let myself in. As the door closes behind me I barely feel the rumble as my apartment travels back up to the fourth floor.

It has been two weeks. Two long weeks since the headmaster first arrived on the all too normal lawn behind number Four Privet Drive. It's crazy to think how much life can change in such a small amount of time.

I toss my apartment key into the little bowl beside the door along with my change from the apothecary. The mess rattles for a second before sorting itself into a neat little stack. A strange enchantment, something I'll admit to playing with for a good hour the first time it happened. I'd discovered that it even puts pocket lint into its own little pile.

I take a moment to gaze longingly at the deep blue couch set against the far wall. A warm patch of sunlight bleeds in through the curtained window across one side, and I know it would be just warm enough for a nap. But no, I can relax later on. Too much to figure out to even consider napping. I slip my boots off and pad softly over the thick carpeting to the kitchenette.

My cauldron is still sitting on the stove top, steam no longer rising from the top in misty clouds. Besides it I have my first years potions text opened to a now dog eared page. I pull a chair, scraping across the linoleum, to pour back over the thing and to set up my new testing kit.

The potions book turns up no new information, which isn't surprising. I had read the instructions for the hair lengthening potion about twenty times before brewing it, I had triple checked it's color against the chart when it was complete. Considering what had gone into making it there was very little chance of me drinking the thing to test it out unless I was certain I had it correct. And I did, I know I did. So what went wrong?

The testing kit proves to be an exercise in frustration, but the hour I spend figuring the thing out may prove useful at some point. What may be in the future has little bearing on now though, and after smearing a few drops of potion across a prepared strip and dipping that into a clear solution I'm not especially prepared to try my hand at the complex math necessary to break down the string of runes left on the strip. I'll have to be careful with my brewing until I've figured out how to do all the math involved. Or just learn the stupid spell to check the potion.

I'm left leaning back in my chair, rubbing at my temples, absolutely no closer to an answer than when I started this morning. Par for course on the potions front. Here I thought my attempts at a solution of silence turned out strange. At least the hardening potion ended up working. Even if that pair of jeans is now basically a statue of pants.

So if nothing glaring stands out about the brewing, maybe it's something in the ingredients? I rule out about half the list, common between the three brews. That leaves me with a couple things I check over with a painstaking attention. Double checking against the all too thick copy of 1000 Magical Herbs and Fungi leaves me certain that I wasn't sold any off product.

My fingers drum a short rhythm against the countertop. I should have all the information I need to riddle this out. All three are first year level, not very difficult considering my own experience in cooking. All three contain fairly similar ingredients. Brew times all under two hours. Small mistakes in simple potions can very nearly be ignored so long as the clarity and color aren't affected.

What's the difference between the three potions? The hardening potion is meant to be used on non living materials whereas the solution of silence and the hair lengthener are meant to be used on living things. The hardening potion turned out just fine. The other two ended strangely. In the case of the solution, instead of making it so my body couldn't produce sound for half an hour, it only lasted about a minute. Not only that but I couldn't even make other things create sound as demonstrated by when I dropped and shattered my vial after swallowing the horrifyingly bitter stuff.

The hair lengthener was meant to grow my hair out maybe a couple inches in the amount I took. It was also supposed to happen within a span of hours. Instead? I yank some of the black locks trapped between me and the seat. Instead within five minutes I have hair down to my knees.

Maybe it's just me? I pause my tapping for a moment, the idea sounding less ludicrous than I meant it to. That actually might be it. I scramble back out of the kitchen to my open trunk in the sitting room. Now where did I put that?

My supplementary potions texts is near the bottom of my pile of books, having worked it's way down as I've been skimming over them all at random this week. I flip through the introductions and find the guide page, running a finger down to the section labeled Interactions. I knew I'd seen something about that.

The chapter goes over how potions intermingle with a subjects magic to produce their effects. Essentially a wizard or witches potion would leech magic passively in the user and convert it to produce an effect. In potions that aren't meant to be ingested the inherent magic of the ingredients would be broken down instead. A potion can have its effects magnified through the application of more magical sources, usually in the form of extra potent ingredients provided they are inert.

I snap the book shut, placing it back into my trunk. That gives me a working theory, but I need a bit more proof before calling it. I cork an extra vial of the hair lengthener before pouring the rest out into a bowl for safe keeping. Unfortunately I only have one cauldron so the next thirty minutes are spent scrubbing this one out very thoroughly.

Now I just need something else to test. Something simple and quick with fairly obvious and measurable results. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear to keep it out of my face. Preferably something less embarrassing if it works strangely.

After a minute of flipping around my potions text I find my candidate in something called the smoking solution. If you shake it, the potion would turn into a small cloud of scentless smoke that would dissipate after a few seconds. If you drink it, you'll breathe out little clouds of smoke for a minute or two. I set up my ingredients and get to work.

There's something enjoyable about brewing a potion that I can't quite put my finger on. Cooking certainly never felt this nice, though that may have more to do with Aunt Petunia watching over my every move. I give the cauldron half a stir counterclockwise and let it sit as I chop pine needles. Maybe it has more to do with having something magical I can actually accomplish. So far I've gotten nowhere with anything else.

I turn the knob down to a simmer and add the needles in before stirring in fine charcoal powder. It isn't for lack of trying. I've spent a nearly ridiculous amount of my time this week reading and attempting actual magic to no avail. I even ran back out to Flourish and Blotts and picked up a book called Cantrips and Curiosities which boasted spells so outlandishly simple you could perform them accidentally. Still, nothing at all in the way of progress.

The potion is cooling now, the process taking about twenty minutes. I double check the coloration against the in book chart, finding it to be a match for the swirling slate grey it's meant to be. I triple check every step I'd taken. This should be absolutely perfect.

It's totally me.

Shaking a vial of the stuff did exactly as it was meant to. The little cloud of smoke floated gently about the kitchen for about five seconds before vanishing. The vial full that I swallowed left me blowing such thick clouds of smoke I had to leave the kitchen before I couldn't breath. I sputtered smoke for at most thirty seconds, the last wisps leaving my nostrils in thin trails.

The headmaster had said that my magic is a bit more concentrated than it should be. I can't help but recall the electric bright lines running under my skin compared to the hazy fog that filled his image. It looks like when a potion hits my magic and leeches it, it gets a bit more of a boost than normal. It also seems like my body burns straight through the potion at least twice as fast as it should. Add one to the me being weird in a weird world track.

Alright, fine then.

I make a point of bottling the remainder of the smoking solution, all of it fitting nicely into an empty butter beer bottle. There's probably enough of it to fill a room with smoke if I toss it and I'd rather not let it all go to waste. The cauldron gets a slightly less than thorough scrubbing this time, more out of irritation than anything. I leave the books out and pad back out of the kitchen.

The apartment isn't the most spacious, but it's more or less all mine, something I still can't believe. To be exact, the place used to belong to my family. The more magically inclined side that is to say. Apparently my folks had the place after finishing Hogwarts but before I was born. My father maintained rent on the place after leaving, apparently with the intention of passing it along to me after I graduated. He did take almost everything besides the furniture unfortunately.

Number sixty-nine Vertic Alley, which Dumbledore has giggled at for some reason, was therefore mine with a condition or two attached. For the amount of freedom the place affords me though, and it's proximity to the alley, I can't complain. Frankly I'd spend every summer here without complaint if I can convince the headmaster.

The kitchenette is basic but well worn and homey. The stove is a bit outdated compared to the Dursley's but I've never had the need for six burners, plus one of these is even meant for cauldron use. Otherwise the room is small, with an old oak table meant to seat four, though there's an odd fifth seat seat off to the side.

From the kitchenette the linoleum gives way to a plush carpet in a dark plum color that my toes sink into. A short hall splits here, one side leading out to the sitting room and entrance and the other side to a small stretch with three doors. The one on the left hand side is the master bedroom, across from it a guest bedroom, this one with a doggy door of all things. The furthest door at the tip of the hall is the bathroom and laundry room combo. All told, a small space, but everything I could ask for.

I deliberate for a moment, pinching a long lock of hair between my fingers, nose wrinkling at the thought of having to give myself a haircut. Certainly I could find someone in the alley for it, though I have no idea what I'm meant to do once there. Cut it short so I don't look like a girl, no don't worry about how you do it, it sticks up no matter what? I heave a sigh and walk to the bathroom to at least consider my options.

If there's one thing I've discovered about my parents, the strangest would have to be their taste in bathing area. The toilet and sink are normal enough, plain porcelain pieces that I was happy to note didn't require any scrubbing. The bath however, is a bit outlandish. It's practically the size of a very small pool and deep enough to have a short ladder. For me it's about chest height, certainly more reasonable for a full sized adult, though still strikes me as a little much.

The mirror as well strikes me as a bit odd. It's a full length, easily twice my height from where it sits on clawed feet. The edging is a complicated pattern of lions bounding around the glass, some playing, others napping, some giving the impression of hunting.

"Still looking a bit ruffled there, still haven't decided between braids or a tail?"

Ah yes, and it speaks. This is probably the only part of this world I would change if I could. Why would anyone want a chatty mirror? Absolutely no idea, but beyond just scaring me half to death when I need to pee in the morning, it also has the tendency to sass me about just about everything.

"The least you could do is tuck your shirt in. Maybe straighten out that tie as well. I can't believe you went out like that."

I develop a small twitch in my right eye at that. I am a bit rumpled, though I'd like to think it suits me. No need to dress all prim and proper before school even begins. At least I went through the effort to put on the tie in the first place, even if I do keep it loose. Considering my other options leave me closer to homeless looking, I've been traipsing about in my school clothes when I go out. Which I hope to remedy once I find a spare moment and a second hand store.

"Mopsy?"

If I sound s bit hesitant it's because I am. Though the headmaster said that she would be able to hear me anywhere, I still don't quite understand how that works, and I've been doing my best to avoid calling her. A small pop echoes in the bathroom, and I scan the mirror attempting to spot her.

"Yes Mr. Potter? How can Mopsy help?"

One of the conditions of me staying in the apartment over the summer was that I'd have someone checking in on me. That someone turned out to be a knee height magical creature known as a house elf. I spot her sitting on the edge of the sink, feet kicking merrily in the air.

Mopsy is apparently one of the many many house elves that work the grounds of Hogwarts. She's small and brown haired, with overly large blue eyes and pointed ears. Not exactly what Tolkien described as an elf, but the diminutive folk seem by and large very friendly so I can't complain. Though I suppose my sample size is only one.

"Sorry to bother you Mopsy, I appear to have had a small issue with a potion and thought you could help?"

The tiny woman's eyes go wider if possible as I speak. She jumps down from her place on the sink and practically pops over to my side.

"A potion? Are you okay? Should Mopsy find a healer?"

She wrongs her hands nervously in her uniform, a small dress with a Hogwarts emblem sewn on. Already I can see her eyes watering. Maybe I should have picked my words better?

"No no, nothing like that. I'm not poisoned or anything. My hair is just, well you see. Can you cut it for me?"

Like flipping a switch Mopsy gives a big sniffle and her look of worry cracks into a toothy smile. I can't help but smile back.

As expected, nothing short of shaving my head will ever get rid of the mess I call a haircut. I settle for keeping it a bit longer, hoping that the added weight will keep it at least somewhat manageable. I keep enough that I could pull it back into a high pony tail to keep it out of my face while working. For now I let it sit, stray ends still poking out here and there like a strange case of bed head.

Mopsy sticks around, fretting about the apartment attempting to clean. Clean what, I'm not exactly sure. I'm not the most organized, but I'd like to think living with Aunt Petunia has at least taught me to tidy up after myself. I let her run about while I settle on the couch to read.

Cantrips and Curiosities is a thin tome without much in the way of interest or substance but I figure if I'm having trouble then simple is perhaps for the best. Unfortunately, being that it is a spell book, the instructions all call for the use of a wand. Beyond that requirement the spells themselves have no incantations and no specific wand movements save for one or two almost first level spells in the very back. I'm sick of attempting the first spell, meant to spin a very small object, and have moved onto flipping around at random.

Somewhere around mid book I find something at least mildly interesting.

"Activation. What some may say to be the first step in Ancient Runes, activation is less a spell and more a purposeful release of magic. Common to older styles of magical device, a rune cluster requires magic to perform its designated function, thus the activation spell. To achieve, simply focus on pushing a small amount of magic through the wand and into the runes. Beginners may find it easiest to trace over the runes while doing so to ensure enough magic is used."

I lean back into the couch, mulling this over. Have I seen anything that looks like a rune cluster? Do you even know what that would look like? I feel as though the wording at least sounds familiar.

I drag my trunk over and begin pulling books. A flip through my course books sparks nothing so I move on to the odds and ends I had picked out. Glancing over my other purchases turns up nothing. It's the small battered collection from the Junk Shop where I strike gold. A worn red volume entitled Enchanting Volume Three has a chapter titled Layering With Runes.

The majority of it is over my head, the chapter far along enough in the text that I'm missing a ton of context. From what I can glean though it appears that ancient runes can in some way be used alongside magic spells to enhance spell work or make conditional effects when active. A singular example appears to imply that they can be used on their own to entirely replace a spell as well somehow. A string of jagged markings run vertically down the page here, listed in the footnotes as to harden, to make strong.

The next page rambles at length about intent and interpretation and how this string of lettering can possibly interact with spells or potions. A small scrawl in the margin reads precast or post? If there's an answer to that question they didn't feel it necessary to include anywhere along the next few pages.

I snap the book shut and run a hand through my hair, heaving a sigh. I don't have nearly the amount of background knowledge to puzzle this one out for now. Another trip to the book store may be necessary sometime soon if I want to figure this one out. For now I move onto the next spell in Cantrips, giving an audible snort as this one proclaims the ability to create a small current of wind to ruffle cloaks and hair alike.

I end up reading until my eyes sting, the light from the window having slowly faded to dusky red. I stretch out with a groan, my back popping slightly from the uncomfortable hunch I've been sitting in during my attempts to make a bowl of water ripple without touching it.

So much for book shopping. Tomorrow maybe.

For now I need to do something about the gnawing of hunger in my belly. A quick peek in the kitchenette and I don't see Mopsy running about. My cauldron is set on the drying rack though, and my potions supplies are packed away once more. I settle in, digging through the refrigerator and cabinets to whip something up.

I only stay up after dinner long enough to attempt a handful of exercises from the book Dumbledore recommended me. I picture stray thoughts drifting along a vast blank space like embers across a night sky. I snuff them out one by one until the canvas is nearly dark. Another has me focus on the sounds of the room, the small whirl of my ceiling fan and the buzz of insects and tune them out until all I can hear is my heart beat. It's as I'm slowly relaxing each muscle, starting at my toes and moving up to my head, that I drift asleep.

In some ways time passes quickly and I settle into a bit of a routine. I do what I can, spending large swathes of time reading aloud from my text books to my newly named owl Hedwig. I fill an entire notebook with the ins and outs of spells, a small clutter of books on basic arithmancy and ancient runes adding to my growing collection in my attempts to do literally anything with my magic. When I get frustrated with that I brew potions nearly at random from my textbook, riddling out the testing kit out of practical necessity. I'm sitting on the plush carpet of the living room when it finally happens.

Pinched between my fingers is a single, run of the mill matchstick. My focus on the thing is intense enough that I can feel my fingers cramping as I hold it. Sweat beads on my forehead, possibly due to the patch of warm light I decided to sit in, possibly from how hard I'm concentrating. A muscle in my jaw twitches ever so slightly as I frown.

"Do it."

I feel like I'm attempting to push a brick wall without actually moving my arms. Which is to say I'm putting a ton of effort into something impossible. A single drop of sweat rolls down my nose and I breath hard for a moment to jostle it from where it tickles my nostril.

"Come on, do it."

My mouth is locked into a grimace and I speak between grit teeth. My forearm tenses hard enough that I think I can make out the muscles connecting under my skin. I focus hard on a feeling buzzing in my chest that I might be imagining entirely.

"All you need to do…"

I snag that buzzing, some electric prickling heat just behind my heart and push. I push hard and slow, like I'm shoving an anchor made of glass. I've been dancing around this feeling for days now and without fail pushing too fast shatters whatever nameless thing I can nearly feel into nothing. So hard and slow.

"…is just…"

Like a knot under my skin, the feeling moves from my chest into my arm. But that isn't quite right. It feels more like it stretches or expands. It fills the space from where it started to where it is. I continue to push, my bicep and shoulder tingling alongside my chest. It crawls to my elbow, then up to my wrist. I think I can smell something in the air, something sharp and earthy.

"…work."

If the space between my chest and my wrist felt like pushing something heavy for a mile, I'm shocked to find the space between wrist and finger tip feels like a sudden inch. The electric feeling hits my hand like a sudden flood, my fingertips tingling so hard it nearly almost hurts. I think I see an arc of brilliance run up the open gap of my pinched fingers like a crawl of static. With a sudden sizzle, the head of the matchstick gives off a thin curl of smoke and then catches fire.

I'm shocked enough that I stare at the match until it burns my fingertip and I drop it with a swear. There's a smile splitting my face that even the sudden pain can't erase though. I collapse backwards on the carpet, right hand aloft as I gaze at it in wonder. I can still feel a faint tingle in my arm.

It's only a matter of minutes before I'm trying it again. Recapturing that feeling of magic is hard, it slips like mud through my mental coaxing. Slowly though, very slowly, it becomes easier. The buzz in my chest becomes more defined as the pile of burnt matches grows in the dish before me, slowly resolving itself into a tight warmth behind my heart.

Pushing the feeling down my arm seems to be taking longer. I've gone through an entire box of matches before it doesn't feel like I'm straining. It's two more boxes before I can relax my arm and give a hard thought to the feeling drifting down to my finger tips. I'm out of matches at this point and don't quite know where to go from here.

Technically this is not a spell. Cantrips and Curiosities has this listed under the supplemental section. Actual fire spells exist, from ones meant to light candles, to ones that can reduce trees to ash. What this is, is relying on the tendency of concentrated magic without direction to disperse into an object as heat. If you poke paper with a wand, often enough that paper will catch fire. I wasn't quite ready for paper, so I hedged my bet with very dry matches.

A win is a win.

A light tapping at my living room window turns my attention away from looking over any more spells. I cock my head in confusion at the noise, pretty sure my apartment is back on the forth floor at the moment. Walking over I notice a barn owl fluttering just outside. Throwing open the window it flaps in, making a quick loop of the living room before perching on the couch.

"Well how can I help you?"

It regards me with bright yellow eyes and holds out a talon, a letter tied to it. As I make my way over two more come flying in from behind me. These ones join the first on the couch, a small package strung up between them. I poke my head back out the window, scanning the alley for any more rogue birds.

The first owl flies off after I untie the letter from its leg, soaring back out the open window and vanishing. It takes a moment to undo the parcel attached to the other two, and soon they join the first in leaving. I'm left scratching my head as I'm once more alone.

I shrug and plop onto the couch, not bothering to close the window. The breeze coming down the alley is pleasant on my slightly too warm skin. I wipe away a bit of sweat from my forehead before grabbing the first letter.

Thin looping cursive addresses it to me in bright blue ink. I flip it open, something small dropping out of the folded letter to the floor as I do so. I scan over the letter, a smile tugging at my lips as I reach the bottom.

"Now that's quite the long name."

The letter is from Dumbledore. Or, as he is apparently called, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. My hand practically cramps just thinking about having to sign everything like that. The letter wishes me well and he hopes my summer isn't too boring. He also wishes me a happy birthday. I think about that for a second.

"I hadn't even noticed."

I really hadn't. Between exploring the alley, and brewing potions, and practicing magic, I had really lost track of time here. I feel giddy at the thought of magic, the warmth in my chest prickling like a reminder. I bend down and scoop the thing that dropped out of the envelope.

I see myself waving from in front of a large wall of stone, a small red headed woman at my side. Well that can't be right. At a second glance the person is definitely older than me, even if the resemblance is uncanny. He grins wide and his wave turns into a thumb up, the red head beside him bumping his hip with hers. Her eyes crinkle in silent laughter as the man loses his balance and hits the ground.

Green eyes. Oh!

My vision swims slightly and I find myself sniffling while clutching what I now recognize to be a photo of my parents. I watch the scene, utterly enraptured. I really do look like him. He struggles to flatten his hair after standing back up in a way that's all too familiar. My smile is small and crooked like hers, mostly in my eyes instead of my lips.

I'm going to make Dumbledore something awesome for his birthday.

Eventually I manage to tear my eyes away from the photograph long enough to check the package that came in just after it. A far more scrawling pen has marked a small card happy birthday from Rubeus Hagrid. Another bubble of happiness swells in me at seeing his name.

The package contains a well carved wooden box, the finish so polished it's very nearly mirrored. I open it to find an assortment of very nice looking wood working tools and a booklet explaining the enchantments on each of them. A quick glance over tells me that I'll be finding a lot of use in the fine detail chisels especially. The needle thin one is especially interesting, enchanted to not break or bite into skin.

I go a little overboard on drafting rambling thank you letters to both of the men. Hagrid's letter is a bit more reasonable at two pages. Dumbledore's ends up being a long rambling thank you and update about my summer that carries on for a surprising six pages when I'm finished. I grab Hedwig from my room and struggle to tie both letters to her for a few minutes before sending her off.

I spend the rest of the afternoon with a smile that won't quite leave my face, even as I struggle through trying other basic spells without effect. The smile only broadens when Mopsy pops in after dinner with a cake. Her shriek of surprise when I spin her around in a tight hug sets me to laughing like a complete loon.

With my birthday come and gone, August hits the alley with a sudden influx of parents and children going about their shopping. After the first day I begin to avoid Flourish and Blotts altogether if only to keep out of the press of people. As such I spend an almost ridiculous amount of my time wandering the alley in second hand shops and odds and ends stores. I maintain my promise not to spend too much money, keeping a running tally of what I do spend in a little book I keep in my back pocket when I go out.

Certain things I decide are necessary expenses. If the occasional ice cream makes that list it isn't anyone else's business. I do end up dropping about a galleon on well fitting casual clothes though. Most of the stuff is a little worn and faded, a few buttons need replacing, and the few pairs of jeans with rips in them I deem as looking nicer with the holes than without. I can finally get rid of my old hand me downs in their entirety though, which I take a strange glee in doing.

I also track down a few battered objects in the Junk Shop that have been collecting dust long enough the owner parts with them for a few knuts each. They're more novelty than necessity, but it isn't what they do that makes them interesting. It's more about how they work.

A short metal rod engraved with a spiraling string of runes lights up like a torch when magic is run through it. The hour it takes me to riddle out how to activate the runes is frustrating but rewarding. It makes it far easier to puzzle out how to turn on the braided leather bracelet that stops heat from burning my hand. I make a point of grabbing a baking tray of cookies from the oven after I figure that one out.

The final week of August is a rush of activity. I brew my way through the entire beginning chapter of my potions text book, needing to stop at the apothecary for more vials and to replenish all my used up ingredients. I make a point of grabbing their owl post catalog for when I go to school.

As far as magic goes, all I really have under my belt is the ability to light a candle without a match if I pinch the wick and concentrate and I can struggle through turning on simple strings of runes. Transfiguration is a complete and total dead end for me, I don't even know where to begin on turning a matchstick to a needle or a pincushion to a porcupine. Similarly I don't know any structured spells, having attempted every charm in the first chapter of the text. At this point I think I might know enough about the hover charm that I could fill out a twenty page essay and include its arithmantic formula.

Waving my hands and arms about has accomplished little beyond making me feel silly. I've even tried individual fingers with no effect. My magic stays stubbornly locked tight under my skin, a constant presence now. I've even started to push the feeling about my body, something that was just as hard as the first time I managed through my right hand.

Now though, I can even feel the low not-quite-there hum of my magic like a second skin, from head to toe. All that's managed to do is let me light a match with my foot, something I don't think will ever come in handy. I do my exercises every night, slowly working through the booklet, now with the addition of feeling out for my magic and trying to move the sensation faster or slower from my center.

The inevitable approach of school has left me scrambling, reading and rereading chapters in an attempt to riddle out even one fully fledged spell. I made the mistake of sitting at the ice cream shop as a new student, a small girl with a thick mane of brown curls, attempted to make her spoon stir her ice cream with her wand. Up until then I had thought maybe magic is just as much a struggle for those with new wands as it was for me.

She managed on her third attempt.

I try not to compare myself to others usually, but that's just absurd. A full month of work for two not quite spells and I watch a girl manage a full one with incantation and wand movements in seconds. Is it really so much easier with a wand than without?

The last day of August leaves me feeling dejected and resigned to waiting for class. I'm hoping that one of the professors will be able to point out something silly I've missed or overlooked. Some small notation in a basic guide that gives step by step instructions on how to make a spell happen. I spend the day packing away my stuff, double checking that I'll have everything I need for school.

Sleep doesn't come easy that night. I toss and turn, worry gnawing at my brain that I'm going to show up to class and get kicked out when I can't even manage the simplest of spells. Images of the headmaster looking on in disappointment and shaking his head as he sends me back to the Dursley's fill my head. Hagrid comes and takes Hedwig to give to a real wizard.

I'm tired and irritable as Mopsy pops into my room to wake me.

"It's time to get up, Mopsy will make breakfast so you don't miss the train!"

I practically sleepwalk through my morning routine, grabbing clothes at random to throw on after I bathe. I'm slightly more awake by the time I make it'll the kitchenette to the smell of tea and bacon. I thank Mopsy with a yawn and chew my meal almost mechanically. Hedwig steals a few strips of bacon off the table while Mopsy isn't looking.

Before I know it I'm locking up the door to the apartment, key going to the bottom of my trunk for safe keeping. I'm pulled along down Vertic Alley, one of the girls at the flower shop waving as I'm rushed passed. From there it's a short walk through Diagon to the Leaky Cauldron where Tom says he has a cab waiting to bring me to King's Cross.

"Just remember, nine and three quarters lad. That's one pillar before platform ten. Just walk through, don't worry about crashing or anything like that. Portals open until the train leaves so you've got plenty of time."

I nod steadily, committing the advice to memory as best I can in my still half asleep brain. I bid Tom fair well and give Mopsy another hug that leaves her sniffling before I exit the Leaky Cauldron out into the street and into a cab.

The ride is short and bumpy, full of questioning looks about the very obvious snowy white owl in her cage with my trunk. At least I had the sense to leave my cloak and everything packed away. Not that I particularly want to wear the thing in this heat.

I'm dropped off just outside the station, left to struggle through a teeming mass of men and women rushing about trying to get to their stations. It's been so long since I've been out of the alley they amount of suits in normal grays and browns come as something of a surprise. I wander cheerily through the crowd, stopping long enough to ask directions to platform ten from a sweating man in an information booth.

Giving a slow look about the station as I approach, I'm confident no one is watching as I wander up to the column just before platform ten. Still, I dip a testing finger against the stone, satisfied as my finger continues through as though it wasn't even there. One last long look, I see a flash of red headed children coming my way, and I close my eyes and pass through the column.


	6. Arrival

I open my eyes on the other side of the barrier to an altogether different crowd of people. Small groups of vibrantly cloaked adults mill about the platform, ushering their children towards a gleaming red and black train that gives off the occasional gout of steam. The press of noise is sudden and surprising and I stop immediately in my tracks in surprise.

Which is why I should have expected the stiff bump against the back of my legs as another person attempts the crossing behind me. I teeter for a moment, hand darting out to steady Hedwig's cage. I turn to see a frowning boy, one of the red heads I spotted on the main platform.

"Don't block the entrance, you'll get run over by the next person trying to run through."

A faint blush creeps up my cheeks at his chiding tone and I simply nod and move forward. Behind him two more boys, slightly younger, barrel into him one after the other.

"Merlin Percy! Don't-"

"-Block up the platform!"

I give the first boy, Percy, an apologetic look as he turns to yell at the seemingly identical pair of boys. If he notices he doesn't do much more than frown in response. I push forward, purposefully ignoring the curious looks of other students drawn to the noise.

All around me parents hold last minute conversations with their children. Most older kids seem to listen with half an ear, eyes roving the platform for friends and classmates. Those around my age hover about their parents nervously. I wheel my trunk through this mixed crowd to the nearest door. _Would be nice._ I shrug off the pangs of jealousy at the teary goodbyes of parents to their first year students and jump onto the train.

I am, at best, an awkward sort of person. As with most things I tend to blame the Dursley's for that. Dudley's attempts at preventing me from making friends as a child had worked so well I'm more used to interacting with adults than other children. Which is why, as I push my trunk through the train cars, I skip over every compartment I notice another person in.

It isn't as though I don't want to talk to someone or make friends now that I'm out from under my relatives collective thumb. The thought of it just fills my stomach with butterflies and I can't bring myself to open any of these doors. So I end up in the last compartment, well away from anyone else.

The featherlight enchantment on my trunk is decent, but not especially great. I struggle for a moment lifting the thing entirely into the overhead, then give up when I think about needing to take it back down when we get to the school. I place it on the floor and rest my feet on it instead.

I'm feeling incredibly bored by the time the train gives a small jolt and a long rush of steam. I watch through the window as a few last minute stragglers have to jump on. Parents wait and wave their goodbyes as the engine chugs along, picking up speed until we leave them and the platform behind.

I close my eyes for a minute or two, attempting to lull myself into a nap. I shift about, finding no way to get comfortable and too full of nerves to sleep anyway. I dig through my trunk for a book instead. Settling in, I flip through the pages of one of the old books I purchased from the _Junk Shop_, reading aloud to Hedwig having gotten used to doing so during the summer.

The book is called _Hedgecraft and Ritualism_, a thick text on a course that seems half potions and half enchanting. Potions is a pretty exact science, combining the effects of known ingredients in balanced measurements under certain conditions to gain specific effects. If two wizards brew a potion the same way, at the same time, doing the exact same things, both potions will always be the same. Hedgewizardry is a little more slapdash than that.

Take for example the poultice of guises, listed towards the middle of the book. While brewing the witch or wizard keeps a clear image in mind of an appearance. That could be their neighbor, a face in a magazine, a flock of birds, it doesn't matter. When applied to the skin the poultice will affect the peripheral vision of anyone else around so at a side glance they appear to be that image. They're only revealed as themselves when viewed head on.

If this were a potion it would work no matter who applied it. You could purchase a completed one at a shop and it would cost a bit more than if you brewed it yourself. Passerby's would see groups of the same person from the corner of their eye. It isn't a potion though and it will only ever work for the brewer.

After all, that other person doesn't know what the image was in all it's detail. Even if you handed them a picture, the small stuff you focus on or that gets jumbled in your memory of it would be different to how they view it. Essentially the memory of the maker is imprinted on the poultice and simply won't work for anyone else without the addition of their particular magic. To anyone else it will just be some fragrant liquid smeared across their skin.

I haven't attempted to make anything listed in this particular book yet. It all sounds very impressive and interesting but it lacks something that potions actually has. You can double check a potion, review your steps, test what it will do with a kit or a spell. If you want to test out hedgecraft, you just have to use it. For someone living basically alone all summer, the last thing I need is to poison myself or burn off all my skin with something I brewed incorrectly.

A quiet knocking disrupts my train of thought, startling me enough that I nearly drop my book. From the frosted glass of the compartment door I can see a short figures hazy outline hesitating. The knock comes again and I open the door to a familiar face.

"Ah! Sorry to interrupt, thought I saw someone in here."

The short, slightly round face of the boy from the library peeks into the compartment. He shuffles nervously, fiddling with his school cloak as his eyes sweep behind me. I clear my throat and he jumps a bit, watery blue eyes locking onto mine before focusing a little to my side and coming back to my face in recognition.

"You're that boy from the alley! Uh, Potter right?"

"That's me, and you were uh…"

I search back through my memory, trying to fish a name out. I'm so stuffed full of books on magic I can only remember his grandmothers vulture hat and the word Long. Long what? Longshanks? Longless? The boys expression oddly relaxes into a grin at my clear lapse in memory. _Weird_.

"Neville Longbottom."

"Right, sorry. Names were never one of my strong points."

"That's okay, bit of an ask to remember after two months."

We fall awkwardly silent for a long moment. I notice his eyes wandering across the area behind me and step back to open the door fully. Still, he stands in the entryway, simply looking about without coming in.

"So, anything I can help you with?"

That's startles him out of whatever it is he's doing. He gives an embarrassed grin at my raised eyebrow.

"I was just looking for my toad. He got away from me after I got on the train and I've been asking if anyone's seen him."

"Sorry to say that I haven't. Just me and Hedwig in this one since boarding."

His expression falls in a way that makes me feel guilty._ That's all you have? Haven't seen it, move along?_ I think about it for a second. No way am I going door to door, the thought alone gives me a stomach ache, but I may have an alternative.

"Have you tried asking one of the upper years?"

"I've gone compartment to compartment, no one seems to know where he's gotten to."

The other boy regards me with a curious look, and it strikes me that he doesn't quite see what I'm getting at. _A couple months with magicals and I'm already thinking like one._

"I mean a summoning charm. That's what the owner of that ice cream shop in Diagon said he uses to grab things from behind the counter. I don't know when we're supposed to learn them but I'm sure someone on this train must know how to use one."

Neville's mouth opens for a brief moment before snapping shut. He looks a bit baffled at my suggestion and I find myself shifting uncomfortably for some reason.

"I thought you didn't grow up with wizards."

I tilt my head curiously at the seemingly random statement. Certainly it's true, but I'd like to think I look a little less touristy after a summer spent acclimating to all of this. Did I say anything about that when we met? I don't remember doing so, nor do I think I would have. I give a little shrug.

"I didn't? How exactly did you figure that though?"

A blush creeps up the boys neck and he won't meet my eye.

"Sorry, didn't mean it to sound rude or anything. You just don't really react the same way most people born on this side tend to."

_React how? To what? _I simply shrug again, not really feeling the need to pick at this particular puzzle at the moment. Neville gives a small smile in the silence.

"That's a good idea though. I'll have to find one of the older students and see if I can beg a spell. Thanks."

"No problem?"

He gives a quick goodbye and leaves me alone in the compartment feeling confused. I'm definitely missing something about that conversation. Something that I'm sure would be glaringly obvious if I had been raised a wizard. As it stands, I don't have any way of knowing without chasing after him for answers.

I settle back into my seat, weighing the benefits of following him while pretending to look for his toad while keeping up a barrage of questions until I figure out why he's being dodgy. The thought is funny, but ultimately it's just that, a thought. Leave chasing people down for information to detectives and cops. I still have a trunk full of lightly read books to go through.

"Lets see here, catch a snooze while trying to read my history text or pull my hair out while attempting to make a spell work? Decisions, decisions."

Predictably for me I choose to spend the next half an hour making stupid faces while attempting to produce water in my cupped hands. Hedwig occasionally gazes down at me from her perch in what I think is a slightly judgmental way. _Jokes going to be on her when I manage this and splash her._

The only water I manage to produce is a little bit of sweat from focusing hard enough that I need to shake my hands out. I pointedly ignore the small hoot above me at that. I need to go back over the text, I'm doing something wrong here.

"Unlike the more advanced charm _Augmenti_, the condensation charm gathers together ambient moisture and collects it. This will, dependent upon climate, usually produce enough water to fill the hand. As the spell is focused more on gathering than producing, it lacks the pressurized effect of its sister spell."

No wand motions associated with this one, no incantation either. The page makes the suggestion of envisioning small droplets of water being pulled into a larger mass. Magically it should work by releasing an invisible cloud of intent and magic to draw in moisture which then gets pulled into a single point. Simple in theory, especially compared to the convoluted explanation of how one goes about producing water that doesn't already exist.

I take a cleansing breath and focus inward, searching for the tell tale comforting spark of my own magic. I grab the feeling, a second rhythm beating just behind my heart, and let the sensation roll down my arms to the tips of my fingers. My skin prickles and warms as it washes through me, lagging a bit on my left side. _Need to practice more with that arm I guess._

Now, for someone with a wand, evidently this next part should come fairly naturally. Magic needs to be shunted out into a loose cloud with the intent of gathering water. My face twists into a grimace as I mentally push at my magic. I meet the barrier of my skin and feel like I'm shoving pudding through cement.

Pushing harder only ratchets up the resistance and the gentle tingle of magic heats up uncomfortably. _Maybe I need to ease into it? _I let off for a moment, gently coaxing the feeling in my hands the way I first learned. The resistance I feel is more rubbery now, far less straining but almost flexible in the way my magic stretches against it.

A sharp knock at the compartment door makes my heart skip and I swear I see a haze of something for an instant in my cupped hands. I let out a frustrated breath and march to the door just as another knock comes. The door slides open a bit more violently then I intend and the person on the other side takes a step back with wide eyes.

"Sorry to bother you!"

I grunt and let myself relax, shaking out a tense hand and attempting to not show my irritation. The small brunette worries at her skirt as I stand silently. _Don't be rude, not her fault._ My face twists out of its frown and I straighten out a bit.

"No need to be. Sorry if I spooked you. I was a bit distracted when you knocked. Can I help you?"

Whatever tension fills the corridor between us fades with my apology. I take in my latest guest with a bit of curiosity. She's just a bit shorter than me, already dressed in the pleated skirt, dress shirt, and tie I recognize as the girls uniform. One of the odd things I'd noted about the older kids already in uniform is that their ties were one of four colors, probably to do with their houses. My own tie, as well as this girls, are black.

"First year as well?"

A mass of curly brown hair bounces along with her nod. That's one puzzle figured out. Not the one I would have chosen at the moment, but I'll take it.

"Hermione Granger, nice to meet you!"

She shoves her hand out towards me so quickly I imagine she probably has a mean jab. Her face is some strange mix of nervous energy and determined. Her smile doesn't show any teeth, quivering a bit on either side like it could fall at any moment. I have a sudden awareness of how clammy my hands are and wipe them on my jeans before grabbing hers. Echoes of Petunia lecturing on behavior around women swim through my head.

"Harry Potter, pleasure to meet you."

A strange shiver and an intake of breath come from the girl as we touch. At the sudden gasp both of us redden and let go, hands darting away like they burn. Her embarrassed look gives way to something intense that I don't recognize. I scoot back an inch into the compartment as her brown eyes bore into me.

"You felt like my wand just now."

_I what?_

At my raised eyebrow she takes a quick step forward and I retreat another step to maintain space. Her face scrunches in something like confusion for a second and her eyes unfocus a bit.

"No, not exactly the same. Similar though. Like warm pins and needles but not uncomfortable."

_Sounds a lot like how my… oh, right._ I've gotten so used to pushing magic through my arms at this point that I hardly notice it unless I'm focusing on using it for something. As I focus on my right hand, that same wash of warmth sits just under the skin of my palm. _I may as well be a magical live wire._ I ease the feel of magic down until it's barely there.

"Sorry, I was practicing a spell before you knocked. Must have kept going without meaning to."

Her face lights up at that and I back up as she marches straight into the compartment. The back of my knees hit my trunk and I manage to twist enough to land on the seat instead of in the open lid. Hedwig gives a soft hoot at my sudden impact. Hermione sits daintily across from me, leaning forward expectantly.

"What kind of spell? I've been reading all summer and managed a few simple spells when I was in the alley but I haven't tried anything complex and I'm rather worried about just what they expect us to be able to do when we get to school. Do you think it'll be anything more advanced than the first chapter in any of our books? I have at least the theory for most of that memorized but I didn't have nearly enough time to go over anything else. I don't understand why we couldn't practice at home, it really gives people living in the muggle world a big disadvantage."

I allow myself a very slow blink to digest the rapid fire words hurled at me in what I think was two breaths. Hermione seems to notice my startled look and sits back in the seat, hand coming up to twist her hair.

"Sorry. It's all just very exciting for me."

I give a slow nod and wave a hand through the air dismissively with a snort.

"You're telling me. It's like a dream."

That perks her back up and her small smile matches my own. I lean back into the cushion of my seat and actually let her diatribe sink in. _Can you not do magic in the muggle world? How would anyone even know?_

"Ah! Before I get side tracked, you said you were practicing a spell? Can I see?"

I can actually feel my smile sink a bit at her question. Beside me _Cantrips_ is sitting open to the page on the condensation charm. _She's already managed a few full spells, and here you are mucking about with things a first year should be able to handle in their sleep._ Up until now I haven't really had anyone to compare to so my stumbling through magic hasn't been a big deal. I feel suddenly embarrassed.

"Is this what you're working on?"

She's already leaning forward, hand tucking curls behind an ear as she scoots to the open page. I want to reach out and toss the book into my trunk and lock it. I decide to simply not answer and look away as she snatches up the thin tome.

She's silent for about a minute while I study a spot of chipped paint by the door handle. I'm expecting laughter any minute now. Maybe she'll simply get up and leave, too embarrassed for the both of us to say anything.

"I don't think I get it, is there another page? How are you meant to expel your magic in a cloud?"

I snap my head back to see her fiddling with her wand, a look of concentration furrowing her brow. A stray spark in deep blue pops off the tip of it as she gives a tight wave. My mouth moves on its own accord, regurgitating a section from _Meditations_.

"In order to project free form magic, the aspect of will is paramount. A witch or wizard must reach for their respective magic and focus on pushing it outward. Most will find it easiest to imagine it as the releasing of a breath as though on a cold day. From there, shaping is reliant upon envisioning the desired shape."

"Where did you read that? I don't remember seeing that in any of our texts!"

She sounds nearly panicked, as though the thought of having missed a chapter could be nearly catastrophic. I almost understand the feeling, even if I tend to simply glance through my texts the first time around. In a world where missing a step while brewing can melt a pewter cauldron though, attentive reading probably is a bit more important than I give it credit.

"It isn't in the school texts. I ended up purchasing a few supplementary books as I was browsing."

I lean over and dig through my trunk, fishing out my copy of _Meditations_ from where it's stacked. I need to pull a half dozen other volumes to get to it, stacking them haphazardly on the seat beside me as I do. When I look up, book in hand, Hermione's gaze is locked on the scattering of texts.

"Is that a second potions book? And something on enchanting? I don't recognize half those titles!"

She says it in a way that makes me oddly proud of my eclectic collection. She also looks worryingly close to snatching the entire pile up. I set a hand down on the stack possessively. _I haven't nearly finished these. Especially the ones from the Junk Shop._

"I didn't have much to do this summer besides brew potions and read. Besides, who wouldn't want to learn as much as they can about magic?"

"Any chance on borrowing those?"

I think about it for a second, avoiding her wide eyed look and quivering lip. It's much more convincing on her than it ever was when Dudley used it while asking for thirds, but I'm still more or less immune to it._ Lot cuter on her though_. I shake the stray thought with a blush.

"The headmaster assured me that the library at school should have most of these floating around. I'll let you read through them now if you want though, I've skimmed most of them."

Her hand darts to the top of the stack, a beaten copy of _Illuminating Illusions_ sitting open in her lap before I can blink. In spite of her quick hand, I note how carefully she grabs the volume. Considering how half the binding looks to be chewed through I'm glad for the extra care. A thought strikes me.

"Of course, if you can't find something in the library I'd be more than happy to start a little book exchange should you read anything worth suggesting."

She doesn't even look up as she gives a distracted nod. Hedwig gives a short bark that sounds almost like a chuckle. As if startled by the sudden noise, Hermione looks up wide eyed at my owl and squeaks. Her hand shoots up to her mouth and her eyes go wide.

"Oh how could I forget? I knocked on the door for a reason!"

I should have wondered about that. I suppose we both got a bit carried away though. I tilt my head curiously, noting that she hasn't moved her finger from her spot half way down a page.

"I'm supposed to be helping a boy look for his toad, have you seen one?"

_Small world_.

"I haven't, though he passed through here himself a little while before you did. I told him to ask a summoning spell off one of the older students."

Hermione chews her bottom lip for a moment, gaze drifting from the book in her lap to the door. A weird struggle plays out on her face for a moment before she gently shuts the book and places it on the seat. She gives a sharp nod, seemingly to herself, before standing.

"I should really check to see if he found it."

I'm strangely disappointed as she reaches out for the door. _Too much time to myself lately_. I manage to swallow the odd ache of abandonment and speak up as she makes to step out.

"Well if you happen to find him the compartment is open."

She gives a distracted smile and a firm nod. As the door shuts behind her, I'm left alone once more. I reach up to stroke Hedwig as she gives a short hoot. From there I settle back into my seat, idly thumbing through _Cantrips_ once more.

It's another long hour of practice when I give up on the condensation charm. I can't wrap my head around how to push the tingle of magic out from under my skin. I snap the book shut and toss it back into my trunk with a sigh. I'm not in the mood to struggle through attempting spells right now.

I have long since taken my shoes off, feet now crossed beneath me comfortably. I stretch out a bit, my spine giving a few small pops as I do. _Eleven is too young for this kind of stiffness_. I shift about, settling to lay across the open bench seat.

_Maybe a few exercises from Meditations to relax._

I close my eyes and relax, focusing my senses inward. The train hums along on the track, hitting the occasional small bump. I tune it out. One of the glass panes in the door rattles loosely. That fades away. The slow sound of my breathing fills my ears along with the rhythmic beating of my heat. Those too drift away, though far more slowly.

I am floating, body loose in a way that feels like the moments before sleep. I veer my attention away from the plunge I recognize as unconsciousness. Instead I turn a lazy attention to another feeling, a spot of warmth in my center. I feel like I'm folding inward as I focus on it, spiraling down some internal drain.

I reach out without hands to cup around the pinprick of heat. It feels jagged and dense like a chunk of raw ore. The shape revolves slowly under my focus, a lazy twirl on some unseen point of balance. I press my senses closer, the hum of something pleasant ghosting through me. It isn't quite a physical feeling, not like the pressing of something on my skin, but something deeper.

I press further in, senses pressing so close that I'm nearly wrapped around the shape. A buzz, something electric, dances through me. It feels like I'm touching a live wire just weak enough to not be painful.

I bolt upright as a knock comes at the compartment door, skin flushed and magic practically singing under my skin in a tidal wave of pressure. I take short shallow breaths as I let it go to ebb back into the center point behind my heart. The feeling is still ringing through me when the door opens, revealing a blonde boy dressed in school robes flanked by two larger boys that I could swear match Dudley in weight.

"Word is that the Boy-Who-Lived is somewhere on this train. Have you seen him?"

_The Who That what?_ I blink owlishly at the boy with the slicked back blonde hair. He simply gazes down his nose at me impassively. I run a hand through what is now an impressively tangled mass of hair.

"Don't know who that is, sorry."

The boy gives a derisive snort and clicks him tongue at me. He spins about in a way that looks oddly practiced and gives a sharp nod to his companions. I think I hear him mutter something about muggleborns as he saunters off. He doesn't even close the door.

I let the thing stay open for the long minute it takes my magic to completely settle back down. When I finally work up the effort to stand up to shut it a woman pushing a trolley pokes her head around the edge of the door.

"Snacks off the trolley dear? Still a few hours out from Hogwarts you know."

I end up with a small pile of sweets and some kind of fizzy lemonade that makes me blow bubbles. The novelty of it wears off sometime around one of my chocolate frogs jumping out the window to freedom and what I think to be a wood flavored jellybean. The sugar perks me up well enough to get back to reading though.

The train continues on, rattling its way across the country side. The sun is setting as the witch with the snack cart makes her final lap, letting me know that I should be getting changed and to leave my things behind when we reach the station. I slip into my uniform with a grumble, worrying at the knot on the tie where it presses against my throat.

The breaks squeal along the track and we come to a smooth stop at a platform mostly surrounded by woods. I bid Hedwig goodbye as I poke my head out of my compartment. Further up towards the front a steadily growing mass of students, now all dressed in cloaks and hats, empty out into the corridor. For a moment I think I spot a mass of curly brown hair before it's swallowed up by the crowd.

"Firs years! Firs years over here!"

I hear him well before I see him, which is saying something considering how much taller Hagrid is than anyone I've ever met. He's holding up a bright torch as a milling group of first years gather about him, most gazing up at him in wonder. I'm the last to join the crowd as he leads the procession of almost comically smaller students down a winding path.

It's a short trip, the path illuminated by patches of moonlight peeking out from between the canopy above us as well as Hagrid's torch. I think I hear someone up front shout loudly about a Trevor or something. We round a final bend to a stretch of water, a collection of small wooden boats bobbing placidly on top.

"No more an four a boat! Careful now, watch yer steps!"

When I finally reach the front there's only a few boats left along with enough students that we will just manage to fill one. Hagrid spots me straggling awkwardly away from the other three, hand worrying at the knot of my tie.

"Good ter see ya made it Harry! Pop on in, we'll be a the castle in no time."

He helps the last of us into the boat, the only other boy nearly stumbling over the side as he attempts to step in. The girls, one brunette and one with hair as dark as my own, step carefully inside after watching him. I crowd into the back with wide eyes, gazing about the sparkling waters of what I think must be a lake. Hagrid clambers into his own boat, the side tipping a bit precariously, before tapping the side with a pink umbrella.

I don't have time to think very hard about the umbrella as all the boats push forward in unison, sending a few unprepared students clutching at the sides to stay in place. The others in my boat don't say a word the entire trip. The boy is busy craning his neck about this way and that. The girl with dark hair simply keeps her gaze locked firmly forward in a stern expression. The brunette wrings her skirt nervously.

"Catch yer firs glimpse of tha castle up ahead, watch out fer the branches!"

The word castle has been tossed around a lot. At this point I'm imagining something fair sized and maybe a bit antiquated. What I see after we duck under a small set of low branches nearly takes my breath away.

The place is huge, even from this obvious distance. It looks like something out of a medieval painting. Towers stretch into the night sky like splayed fingers. Massive arches cross this way and that between high stone walls. I can make out the minuscule forms of crouched gargoyles along the top edges. The entire view practically shines with a light that doesn't make sense this late in the day.

I'm so entranced I hardly notice the murmur of other students the rest of the way over the lake. Even when some unlucky soul falls out of his boat and gets scooped back in by a giant tentacle I hardly notice. The air feels electric in a way I only know as magic.

The procession of boats bump one by one on the opposite shoreline at a little dock, students gingerly stepping out to fill up the space and gaze around in wonder. I find myself once more in the back of the crowd, shuffling nervously as students clump together in little groups. Hagrid parts his way through the sea of children, leading us up a winding path to a massive set of wooden doors. He reaches up and gives a set of booming knocks.

The doors swing wide on silent hinges revealing a stern looking woman standing at the entrance. Greying hair is pinned back in a severe looking bun. Her eyes sweep over the assembled children from behind round glasses perched at the end of her nose. Her look is one of pinched impatience. Hagrid gives a low dip of his head.

"This years firsties Professor."

"Thank you Hagrid, I'll take them from here."

Her voice is as stern as she looks. _Not one to cross I think._ She leads us down the wide stone hallway in silence, setting a pace that has a few children scurrying to keep up. We come to a halt in front of another imposing set of wooden double doors. She turns to look over the lot of us once more.

"I am Professor McGonagall, deputy head mistress of Hogwarts. I'm certain you are all eager to join your other students, but first there is the small matter of your sorting. I shall return shortly. Please do your best to look presentable when I return. I will take you all into the great hall where you will be called by name to be sorted."

She eyes a few students in particular. I do my best to tighten my tie again. One or two students fiddle with their hats and cloaks. With a last tight lipped look she turns to move through the doors.

We are not alone for long at all before a series of transparent figures come flying through the wall, setting a few kids into shocked screams. I give a small jump as one, dressed in what appears to be monks robes, hovers out above my head.

"Wonderful! I knew it was that time of year!"

"You wouldn't know the time of day if it bit you Nicolas!"

"Nonsense, a body could hardly rest with all the elves popping about getting ready!"

I shy away slowly from the monk as he shouts after a translucent man with a wide ruffle on his neck. A chill runs through me as I don't so much bump as go slightly through another one, this one a dower looking woman in a grey dress. I hurry forward, pressing into the crowd as she calls after me.

"My apologies dear, didn't realize someone would be on this side of the wall."

If anyone has something to say about my reaction I don't notice, peeking out from behind the shoulders of a few taller kids. _Ghosts! I just went through a ghost!_ Another involuntary shudder racks my body.

"Ahem."

Professor McGonagall is standing at the doors, arm crossed as she stares down the crowd. Whatever nervous chattering is still going on dies down almost immediately. She gives an arched eyebrow to the floating group of spirits mingling above our heads.

"That will be quite enough, you may speak with the new students after the sorting. Now, come along and form a line."

The doors open wide behind her seemingly of their own accord. From my new spot around the center of the pack I can make out row after row of wooden tables filling one end of a grand hall to the far wall. A sea of flickering candlelight illuminates the space, hovering in gentle motion above the tables. I can faintly make out a raised dais on the far side with a single long table. A sudden buzz of low chatter sweeps in from the room where the older students are already seated.

We follow the Professor down the center of the hall, lining up as she climbs a short set of steps up to the dais. A single rickety wooden stool is placed exactly center, the sudden focus of everyone's attention. _Is that a hat?_

A ratty old wizards hat is perched atop the stool. The thing is bent and faded. I can faintly make out rough stitch marks in odd places along its length. _Maybe we have to pull a rabbit out of it?_

The moment the thought crosses my mind I need to stifle a chuckle bubbling up from my gut. In my sudden shift to cover my mouth I think I see something twitch. I give a firm stare on the strange old hat. _There! _The thing gives another twitch, far larger this time.

The loose seams near the brim open into the rough facsimile of a mouth. What could be eye holes open up just a bit higher on it. The hat inflates slightly, rips opening slightly wider. And then it sings.

Apparently this is the sorting. This is the grand secret that none of the shop keepers would share. I don't know if I would have believed them anyway. I listen with half an ear, pulling apart what I can imagine are the important bits.

Perhaps it would be considered a personal failing, but I never once considered what having different houses meant, nor did I ever give much thought to where I would end up. So long as I got to learn magic and stay far away from my relatives it didn't seem to matter all that much. As the hat sings the qualities of each house, I understand just why it is people put any real thought into them.

_Doesn't really seem fair though_. Indeed, I can't imagine looking after a group of eleven year olds and judging if they were brave enough for Gryffindor or cunning enough for Slytherin. I think some adults would probably fall through the cracks here for lack of supporting evidence. But children?

I enjoy reading, does that make me a Ravenclaw? I've tricked Dudley plenty of times, best be Slytherin. I'd like to think I'm brave enough to make a Gryffindor. Hard work? I've never shied away from work that needs to be done. Must be a Hufflepuff then.

"Abbott, Hannah."

Professor McGonagall stands beside the stool, a roll of parchment in hand. She gazes down at the list, what can only be our names, and she pauses expectantly for Hannah to walk up. The nervous blonde practically dashes onto the platform, coming to a jarring halt beside the hat. She looks at the thing for a long moment, the Professor leaning in to whisper something at her.

She takes a seat facing the students, the hat dropping down to hide her eyes. It's clearly meant for someone with a larger head. The hat twitches, moving slightly back and forth. _That's going to mess up her hair. Wow, that's going to really mess up mine._ It's s strange thought, but probably true. The brim rips wide open.

"Hufflepuff!"

Sudden deafening applause comes from the far corner of the hall, students cheering as the hat comes off the girls head. As she stands on shaky legs her tie shifts from the plain black we all have to yellow. The Professor catches her elbow before she can walk off the wrong side and the girl goes to a far back table. Older students in the same bright yellow ties stand up to pat her on the back and shake her hand. _Maybe this won't be so bad._

It continues on, students marching nervously to sit at the stool in front of everyone and a moment later walking down to be greeted by their cheering housemates. One of the large boys from the train, Crabbe, waddles down to join the Slytherin table. I shift impatiently, awaiting my turn.

"Granger, Hermione."

A mass of curly brown hair marches slowly up from near the front of the line. As she turns to face the crowd her face is pale as snow. I give a small thumbs up just before the hat drops over her eyes that I'm positive she doesn't see.

"Gryffindor!"

I'm actually a little shocked at that. For a girl that seemed so possessive over a new book on the train, bravery isn't the first quality I would have picked out. _Then again, she was pretty forward_. She hurriedly joins the raucously cheering table with her now scarlet tie.

A few more students join Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively. I fret at my tie while I stand, attempting not to pull the thing off entirely. I can't help but anticipate my own name. I'm not big on crowds at all, and knowing all these students will be focused on me any minute now makes my stomach ache.

"Longbottom, Neville."

There's a sudden shift in the hall, that I can practically feel. Before the names were met with silent curiosity and expectation. Two older students next to me had maintained a near silent betting game on who would end up where. Now the room practically vibrates with hushed conversation. Heads crane about, both in the line and at the tables.

"Is it really?"

"..heard he was in this year."

"…think he has the.."

"Smaller than I thought."

Poor Neville wanders up, a sheen of sweat visible across the back of his neck. He too is beyond white, though when he turns to face the crowd his jaw is set stoically. He gazes forward, eyes locked on some far wall. The hat drops over his head. A minute passes.

"Gryffindor!"

The applause from before pales in comparison to the veritable explosion of sound that erupts from the Gryffindor table. Students pound their fists in celebratory beats across the tables. Two voices shout in sing song unison about getting Neville. _What on earth is going on?_

It takes a stern look from McGonagall before the table quiets down. Her expression is oddly jovial though. A tall figure at the head table, a man with long black hair, crosses his arms and rolls his eyes. This far up in what remains of the line I can now see Dumbledore, resplendent in deep maroon robes, clapping along with everyone else.

"Malfoy, Draco."

The rude blonde boy from the train saunters up and takes him seat on the stool. He doesn't have a second to get comfortable before the hat is shouting Slytherin. _It barely touched his head!_ Far less of a scene than Neville's sorting, though the tables do still give a healthy round of applause.

"Potter, Harry."

I nearly trip over my own feet as I scramble forward. I spot the massive frame of Hagrid at the head table, giving me a big thumbs up. Beside him the pale man with the dark hair looks down his nose at me with a strange focus. When I make it to the stool I nearly tip the thing over as I jump slightly to get onto it. A stray giggle from one of the closer tables rings in my ears. I keep my eyes upward, away from the crowd as my face reddens.

And then the world goes dark as a hat drops over my eyes.

_My hair is going to be a disaster._

_'Your hair? Just imagine the amount of sweat they'll have to clean off of me after this.'_

I give a small twitch of surprise as the voice of the sorting hat echoes in my head. I feel something shift in my head briefly, a strange prod someplace in my brain. I twitch again as the feeling continues. It is intensely uncomfortable.

_Hey, I've already reached maximum occupancy up here, any way you could not poke around in my brain?_

_'Did you think I sorted based on shampoo? I need to sift through this mess before I can say where you belong.'_

The next poke makes everything feel slightly to the left and I think I taste the color blue. The feeling snaps away and I feel like I'm about to pitch forward a moment later. My fingers clamp on the stool tightly.

_Be careful in there! Is it supposed to be this uncomfortable?_

_'No, but to the surprise of no one, let alone you, you're a little different. Now hold still.'_

I give the occasional twitch as the hat feels about in my brain. It probably looks hilarious to everyone out in the hall. I'm a little curious why I can't hear anyone laughing by now.

_'Alright, there we are. Hard worker, dedication in spades I see. Interesting projects you've chosen over the years. Lots of potential for loyalty, though no opportunities to show it just yet. Definitely some courage here too, though it's quite tempered by what you expect to be winnable battles. Cunning, oh yes, brimming with that as well even if you don't seem intent on directing it. All topped with a lovely thirst for knowledge. Hard sort you are.'_

_Thanks? I think?_

_'Yes yes, well, it's a bit of a tie. So I'll ask you a question and that should do the trick.'_

_That's it? A single question to determine my house?_

'_I haven't got all night Potter. One question. Are you ready?'_

I think it over for a second. The sudden worry that my glancing over texts and being unable to answer this one important question weighs on me. Would it be something I should know? It's in my brain, it knows if I know the answer already. Doesn't it? I grit my teeth, tightening my grip on the stool.

_Yes?_

_'Really thought that one over hard before answering. Better be'_

"Ravenclaw!"

The hat shouts the last part aloud, making me jump once more. I blink owlishly in the sudden light to a wave of applause and more than one curious look. I'm half way down the hall to join the Ravenclaws before my brain catches up.

_That sneaky little hat!_


	7. Rough Start

_Hogwarts, A History_ has many things to say about the storied past and importance the castle represents in history. Entire chapters are devoted to the sieges brought about by the celts as well as the legendary battle between the four founders shortly after its conversion to a school. The amount of information collated within the tome from yearly curriculum to the establishment and repealing of rules and regulations over the years is astounding. It's all useless information.

I'm currently wandering the eighth floor down a series of corridors that never seem to terminate. Attempting the antique knob of yet another door, the handle crumbles to dust and the peeling wood simply vanishes, leaving behind an expanse of solid stone. I heave a weary sigh in response, dropping the rusting metal. It doesn't even hit the ground before vanishing as well.

Information about the actually structure of the castle is sparse. There's a section dedicated to the great hall and the witch who enchanted the high arched ceiling to show the sky above. The common rooms receive a rambling few paragraphs each. A listing of the many portraits takes up the entirety of glossary D. It even has the exact date that the plumbing sprang into existence.

All of this, and not a single map.

"There shouldn't even be an eighth floor," I grumble. "There literally aren't enough windows for me to be up here."

Yet I've been wandering this labyrinth of hallways for at least two hours. I think. It's difficult to tell when every window shows the sun in a different spot and apparently watches don't work at Hogwarts. The hallways terminates in another fork, the one on the left looking to go on forever, the one on the right leading to another staircase going up. As I turn fully towards the right, something shifts in my periphery.

I turn back to the left. Same endless hallway. _Strange_. I double take a second time as I pivot towards the stairs. _I could have sworn…_

A slow turn back to the staircase leaves me feeling a little off balance. In the corner of my eye the passage shifts from the endless stretch to a flat curtain of spider web. I whip my head back around in some attempt to catch it off guard.

The hallway is gone, replaced with flat stone.

"Okay, I think I've had about enough on this level."

The next floor is drafty, illuminated by near silent torch light. The length of what I can see is featureless beyond the neatly spaced sconces. I wander to a sudden turn to the left, this section housing a few evenly spaced doors bordered by gleaming sets of armor. The first door simply rattles, stuck.

I let my gaze wander down the hall, already leery of more fruitless attempts and wasted time. _First day and I'm already in trouble._ I dig through a pocket, hoping for something I can use to mark doors and hallways. I've certainly traveled down a few of these dizzying hallways more than once and I'd rather not find myself even more lost.

Instead of chalk or a pen, my hand comes up with a small twitching wooden owl. How it got into my pocket I have no idea, but watching the form fluff up and preen for a moment is a nice break from wandering alone.

"I don't suppose you can help me? Find the way out or like a teacher or something?"

The figurine tilts it head at me curiously before going back to preening. I let myself slump against a wall, holding the fake owl out. _Bit of a stretch really._ I place the figurine down on my knee as I begin bumping my head back against the stone.

I haven't read anything in my transfiguration book about animating objects yet, but I have the feeling complicated actions like 'save me' and 'lead me to other people' might be a little beyond their scope. It's still an impressive piece of magic though, capturing a lot of the same nuance I see in Hedwig. If I ever manage to get out of this labyrinth I'll have to read up on them._ If I can even find the library without getting lost for a few days._

"Is there any particular reason you were attempting to break into my store room ?"

I'm so startled that as I bring my head back for another light bump against the wall I crack it against the stone hard enough that I see stars. I grasp what is sure to be a nice welt and stand up dizzily. My owl flutters into the air with a chirp of protest before alighting on my shoulder.

Before me is the tall imposing Professor with the long dark hair. From this close I can note his impossibly dark eyes boring into me. What once seemed to be simply long hair now stands out as oddly slick and limpid. He stares down at me over a bent nose with a look of someone who has swallowed something particularly bitter.

"I have never been more glad to see another person as right now. How did you find me? How does anyone find anything in this place?"

He holds my eye for a long moment. I can't tell what it is he's looking for, but whatever it is he relaxes enough to roll his eyes.

"I was not, , looking for you in particular. I have enough work as it is without needing to babysit. As for why I'm here, beyond the lower levels being where my classroom is, someone, and now I see who, set of the ward placed on one of the ingredients store rooms."

His drawl is smooth and full of barely veiled annoyance. The feeling of enthusiasm at being found quickly deflates in my stomach. My smile drop a bit and something sparks off in my brain about what he said.

"Lower levels?"

"Yes , as in the dungeons."

I run both my hands through my hair in frustration. _This place is absolute madness._ I think hard about the twists and turns and countless doors on my way up. Not once did I travel down. After the sixth floor I don't believe I even saw a staircase going that way.

"So this isn't the ninth floor?"

"A brilliant deduction. No wonder you made Ravenclaw," he grounds out, the words practically dripping with sarcasm. A scowl crosses my lips for a moment before I tighten it back into neutrality. I have no idea what this man even does, which means I should at least attempt to be civil. _He certainly makes it difficult though_. I swallow down my irritation.

"My apologies for wasting your time sir. I'll avoid any more of the doors down here as I continue trying to find the library."

If the man knows where that is, and I'm fairly certain he does, he doesn't direct me. He simply holds my gaze for another long moment before nodding sharply and allowing me to walk passed. As I turn the corner at the end of the hall I glimpse him tapping a wand against the handle of the door I had attempted.

From what I now know is apparently the dungeons the castle begins to make s bit more sense. Directionally at least. The occasional armor does seem to shift slightly as I continue on my way, though only ever in the corner of my eye. I spend a long few minute at the foot of a staircase, wondering if it will bring me to the first floor or the tenth.

It turns out to be the first. I only believe it after stopping a very frazzled looking older student to double check. The parting look she gives me tells me that the Hufflepuff table will have some odd looks for me at dinner. As far as costs go, my sanity on the matter is worth a little chatter.

The library turns out to be one both the first and second floor, though the only door in is on the first. The stacks continue in small alcoves and balconies surrounding the almost endless stretch of bookcases on the lower level. My sour mood after my earlier run in washes away with the scent of bound leather and old paper.

"Looking for something or will you just be blocking the entrance?"

My eyes twitches a little as I crane my neck mechanically. An old woman with steel grey hair and a stern expression stares at me from behind a tidy desk. A particularly strangled smile crosses my lips.

"Everything and nothing. I was hoping to find some reading, and now I think I might need a cot."

The woman snorts as her eyes flick over me once in inspection. I'm looking particularly disheveled at the moment, a fine coat of dust smeared across the front of my dress shirt and on the knees of my pants. The uniform had been the unfortunate outfit sitting at the top of the trunk when I hurried down to breakfast. I hadn't even bothered with a tie. The librarian tugs out her wand and gives a small flick in my direction, the dust vanishing without a trace.

"Don't sully up my books. Damage anything and I'll see you banned until you're my age. Stay out of the stacks in the back behind the chains. Keep your noise to a minimum."

I give a quick nod of my head. She waves me off after another long look. I walk, slow and careful, hearing her muttering about first year Ravenclaws. My serious expression vanishes the moment I disappear behind the shelves.

_They aren't kidding about the size of this place. Now where to start?_

I'm not in here to purchase anything, though I'll be keeping an eye out for interesting titles I might be able to find in the alley for my own collection. I allow myself to wander the rows slowly, running a hand down the spine of the occasional curious title. I spend the day until dinner filling a small notebook in cramped writing with introductory exercises on half a dozen books. I only end up in the great hall after the librarian finds me tucked away in a corner.

"Where did you vanish off to all day?"

I barely turn from my notebook to see Terry Boot taking a seat next to me. He helps himself to a slice of roast beef while I earmark my page and close the cover. My own plate is barely touched, my focus caught on what I had copied out of a beginners guide to runic enchanting.

"Thought I'd explore a bit, try and get a lay of the land I guess? Got distracted when I hit the library though."

Terry gives a wide smile and claps me on the back in time for me to send half a plate of peas careening off my plate and down the table. An older boy gives a dirty look as one bumps into his glass. I do my best to look innocent.

"Library already? Just because you're a Claw doesn't mean you have to live in there you know? Classes don't even start until Monday!"

I shrink a bit in my seat and fiddle with the roast on my plate. Out of all the kids sorted into Ravenclaw this year, Boot had already stood out as a bit more outgoing then the rest of us. Certainly louder if his chattering all night was anything to go by. Anthony Goldstein gives me a sympathetic look from down the table.

"Just thought I'd get ahead of it. Still figuring this whole magic thing out."

The chapter I'd read on lacing magic into objects seemed promising in that regard. Not quite the same thing as getting my magic to leave my body as an actual spell but it seems like a good place to start. At least I already know my magic can go from my skin directly into an object or I wouldn't even be able to use those trinkets from the _Junk Shop_.

Boot points his fork at me in between a bites of dinner. "Theory is all well and good but my Uncle always said you have to cast a spell to cast a spell." His face has the kind of playful confidence I used to see on the athletic kids in my old school. _It's a decent point though_. Still, if I could just cast a spell like that I wouldn't be thirty pages into a fresh notebook.

"I don't know if it's that-"

"You said you were exploring though? Didn't happen to peek up on that third floor did you? Heard a Gryffindor talking about some kind of monster being kept up there."

I'm a little annoyed at him talking over me. Even if I am more or less used to it. The mention of the third floor piques my interest though. It also sounds kind of familiar.

"I might have climbed right passed that one. The stairs are weird here. What's up with the third floor?"

The boy gives me an odd look. It passes as I stare at him expectantly.

"Man you must have been way out of it last night. Dumbledore told us last night not to go up there. You know, very painful death to anyone who goes up there? Said it right after the part about the forbidden forest being forbidden?"

_I don't remember either of those things_.

"I was half asleep after the feast. Must not have been paying attention."

I'd been tired after the train ride in a way I usually only feel after practicing magic all day. I basically sleepwalked up to the Ravenclaw tower and found my bed before drifting off. Too much excitement for one day. Boot takes it in stride.

"Well anyway, the third floor is off limits. I'd love to know what he's got hidden up there. Maybe it's a manticore or something. How cool would that be?"

He keeps up a steady stream of chatter throughout dinner and well beyond as we turn in to the dorm. I practically need to close my curtain to get him to stop talking to me. I can still hear him and Anthony until I manage to drift off.

I awaken Sunday morning before anyone else in the dorm. A low rumble of snoring behind half drawn curtains fill the still dimly lit room. I take the opportunity, creeping my way into my bathroom, for a long shower. By the time I'm changed and headed down for breakfast only Anthony is showing the first signs of making his way out of bed.

Ravenclaw Tower is what I would consider to be a bit out of the way. The walk down to the ground floor for breakfast from the fifth seems like the sort of thing I'm going to get quickly irritated with, especially with my stomach rumbling. Judging by the scattered complaints of the Gryffindors I've overheard, they're in much the same boat.

There's only a handful of students milling about the great hall when I grab a spot at one of the long tables. A few older Ravenclaws are making half hearted attempts at flipping through school books between bites of breakfast. A small cluster of Slytherins are huddled up by their own tables, small groups speaking in hush tones while making eyes at other groups further down. A smattering of Gryffindors fiddle with breakfast or rest with their heads down. Out of everyone, the Hufflepuffs seem the most lively as well as the most present.

I take a break from people watching to construct a three tier sandwich of toast, eggs, and bacon. This early the still steaming plates are full and I take my time selecting the choicest portions. I've drained a glass of orange juice and I'm working on my second sandwich by the time the table fills out.

"Who took all the good bacon?"

"Why is most of this toast so burnt?"

I resist the urge to snicker as I chew a mouthful. Rule number one of cooking with the Dursley's, always be first at the table. I settle in to a small bowl of oatmeal as everyone else digs in for their first bites.

Conversation around the hall begins to rise into the low murmur of now mostly awake students, the loudest bunch very clearly coming from the direction of the Gryffindors. I debate the merits of pulling a book from my bag but it's a bit too loud. I stand up, the plate in front of me vanishing itself of crumbs. The common room seems like the best bet for a quiet read at this hour.

I only make it down one table before an older student I recognize as the head girl snags my arm.

"Stick around, class schedules should be handed out in a minute. Wouldn't want to miss getting yours."

"Oh, right. Um thanks."

The dark haired girl gives me a nod and returns to her meal. I stand there for a second awkwardly, seeing the chair I once occupied already filled. I shuffle further down the table, now full of students, looking for an open space.

"Oi, Harry! Down here!"

Terry Boot is waving from a table at the very end, a small contingent of our year mates with him. I make my way over and plop onto the bench next to him. A dark skinned girl gives me a friendly smile as I nod to the table. I vaguely remember seeing her and her twin get sorted into separate houses.

"Looking a bit Slytherin today aren't you?"

I look down at whatever I'd pulled out of my trunk this morning as the girl looks me over. Worn out jeans and a hoodie in dark green with the words _Potions Accident_ in small silver script. A bit of an unusual find from a second hand store but the thing is warm and has a nice pocket big enough for a notebook.

"Didn't really think about the colors when I was changing in the dark."

"It's nice, matches your eyes."

Boot gives me a side long glance as I look away from my table mate, redness creeping up my cheeks for some reason. I fiddle with my glasses as he catches my rib with a sudden elbow.

"Harry this is Padma. She got sorted with us."

"Yes, right. You and your sister?"

The girl gives a small frown as she looks down towards the Gryffindor table. I think I can spot her sister chatting happily with another girl with blonde hair. Padma props her head on her hand and gives a small sigh.

"Parvati, yes. I shouldn't really be surprised. Even if we are twins, she's much more confident."

I'm at a bit of a loss. So much seems to go into the house you end up in here and I'm not sure I get it. Maybe it's just not growing up surrounded by it or something, but I don't think anything would change if I was a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin. I'd still be awkward around my classmates. I'd still spend an absurd amount of time in the library. Magic would still be this fascinating new thing for me to explore. I settle on something to break the sudden hanging silence.

"Well, I'm sure you'd have made a great Gryffindor too, but we're lucky to count you as a Ravenclaw."

Her smile is contagious, even if mine is just a small upturn in the corners of my lips. Before she can say anything else a small voice interrupts from behind me.

"Very well put Mister Potter. Ravenclaw house is fortunate to have you all."

I turn to see our head of house standing behind me with an arm full of papers. Professor Flitwick is a small man, smaller even than me. A small shock of frizzy white hair stands up from between long pointed ears. His skin is pale, with an almost imperceptible tint of green. He smiles at us with oddly pointed teeth.

"Good morning Professor," both Boot and Padma chime. I manage a small squeak of embarrassed surprise. I'm not really used to being addressed this warmly and I'm not sure how to respond. I simply hold a steady gaze on the mans face with what I hope is a polite smile.

"Class schedules for you all. I know everyone is very excited to begin learning. If you haven't had the chance yet, it would be wise to go with an older student to find your classrooms before the week."

The Professor hands us each our schedules and bids us farewell. I watch the man continue down, greeting students and handing out slips of paper. He pauses to banter warmly with older students as he moves along.

"Looks like we'll be seeing our head of house first thing Monday morning. I was kind of hoping for Defense myself, but Charms seems like a good way to start off the week."

Terry glances down at his paper and I take a peek to compare. I wasn't exactly sure how classes would work, but it looks like we stick with our houses. I start to wonder if we actually spend any time besides meals with anyone else. For all I know we share classes with another house though. It would be a little ridiculous to have such small classes with as few teachers as there seems to be.

"Really? I think charms sounds exciting. Nice, friendly, practical magic. I wonder if we'll get to cast anything our first day," Padma chirps excitedly.

Boot crosses his arms and nods sagely. It looks a little odd from someone his age. "Apparently Professor Flitwick likes to jump right into practical stuff. At least that's what a few of the older kids were saying," he remarks. I feel a sudden lurch in my stomach at the thought.

"Oooh, I can't wait. My parents wouldn't let us practice at home at all. How about you Harry? What do you think he'll have us do?"

Terry butts in before I can come up with a response. He grabs my shoulder playfully as he says," I'm sure after all the studying Harry has been doing it won't matter. I wouldn't be surprised if he has the charms book memorized by now." I grimace sickly as red creeps up my neck.

"I wasn't studying charms yesterday." I pause for a moment before continuing," And I only have the first few spells in the book really memorized either way." He gives me a raised eyebrow at that as Padma suppresses a giggle. I clear my throat uncomfortably.

"I had a lot of time this summer."

I stand, abruptly about that the seat nearly topples behind me. A few students glance down the table at the sudden sound. The heat creeps it's way back up my neck as I catch the thing before it can fall over. Terry gives me a strange look as I gather my things.

"You're leaving already? I didn't even see you eat anything."

Flustered I reply," I was down here awhile ago. I'll catch up with everyone later."

I barely hear him calling back asking where I'm going as I scurry out of the hall. My stomach is working itself into knots and I feel ridiculous as I dodge around a few students coming in the entrance. I make it up to the empty tower and into my room so quickly I'm nearly out of breath when I throw open my trunk.

My charms book is sitting under a handful of others. I toss it into my bag and after a seconds hesitation I grab _Meditations_ as well as _Cantrips_. A silent debate rages in my head. _Library? No, can't practice there. Hogwarts is huge, just find an empty room._

I'm back out into the hall, down a flight of stairs, and through the first unlocked door I can find that isn't a broom closet. The room is bare beyond a stack of chairs pushed against the far wall along with their long wooden work tables. I grab a chair from the pile and unload my bag, setting up to get to work.

I don't make it to lunch. I barely notice the sun lowering in the wide windows on the opposing wall as I read and scrawl line after line of notes. A dull ache rings in my body, a steady empty pulse left behind from hours of flooding myself with magic.

"Wingardium leviosa!"

The quill in front of me refuses to do much as budge. I flip back through the scant two pages of text explaining the spell. I comb through the ten pages of notes I have on it as well. Sweat beads down my forehead, warping the ink on the page in splotches. I make a grand swish flick motion with my entire arm in a sweeping gesture.

"Wingardium leviosa!"

The steady thrum of magic almost burns in my finger tips but will go no further. If I'm meant to be aware of it leaving my body to flood into the air and enter the quill I don't notice. I grab the feather and push steadily into it, the uncomfortable prickling growing hot under my skin.

"Wingardium Levi-ow!"

The quill ignites between my fingers, forcing me to drop it. A stray ember drops onto my notes forcing me to pat it out in a panic. I run a frustrated hand through my hair as the fire consumes my quill.

"Nox?"

Supposedly the extinguishing spell is good for actual fires alongside cancelling a light spell. I focus on the inward sharp pull my magic should be doing but I'm not sure I feel it. The fire burns away before me merrily.

"Didn't think so. Pens are better anyway."

I stew silently for a few minutes. The panic and anxiety of this morning has long since ebbed away into a general sense of disappointment. Disappointment in what I can't say for sure. Myself? My magic? My apparent lack of ability?

_Some wizard I am. I can set fires and my insides look like a kaleidoscope. Oh boy._

I lean back in my seat, exhaling a sharp breath. It takes a simple moment of concentration to release the harsh grip I have on my magic and let it retreat back inward. It leaves my hands feeling cold and shaky. I wonder idly if anyone else feels similar after practicing spells for long periods.

I pat both sides of my face, urging away my darkening mood.

"You have magic, you just need to figure it out."

I let the words carry far more confidence in the empty room than I'm feeling at the moment. I pack my things away in my bag and shoulder it, taking a second to put the chair back._ If what you know isn't enough you just don't know enough. Library it is._ I close the door, leaving the room empty save for a few drops of sweat and a scattering of ashes.

Madam Pince is at her desk when I walk in and I make a beeline to her. She looks up from a scattering of paperwork as I set myself resolutely. Her eyebrow raises questioningly. I open my mouth, and thinking twice, keep my voice a low hush instead of the firm declaration I'm feeling at the moment.

"Can you direct me to the charms section?"

"Rows fifty four through one hundred sixty seven."

Oh.

"How about basic charms? Like first year level?" I pause and think about it before continuing," with a focus on theory?"

The woman thinks it over for a moment before pulling a small pad of paper and a quill. She scratches a few lines out, pauses, and keeps going. I feel my eyebrow raise as she continues for a few more lines before tearing the sheet out and handing it to me. It certainly better than a hundred rows, though the dozen or so listings is still a bit overwhelming. I give her a sheepish smile and a thanks before disappearing into the stacks.

Charms is, at best, a difficult subject to really pin down. From the top down it's an absurd hodgepodge of spells and enchantments meant to do any number of things. Everything from levitation to space increasing to color changing is accounted for. A glance through half a dozen introductory texts leaves me with the distinct impression that the title of charm is given at near random.

This makes it absurdly difficult to track down any one theory on what it is specifically a wizard needs their magic to do in order to make a charm work. Half a dozen simple spells require focus on an end result. Another dozen seem to rely entirely upon enunciation. A small handful appear to lack anything beyond very specific wand movements. I rub my temples in frustration.

I stand and return several less promising volumes to where I found them. I grab more as I go along, return to my table with a precarious tower of books. If I had as much time now as I had this summer I could manage to finish about half of my current pile. I have maybe a few hours before the library closes for the night so I'll have to settle for skimming introductions and chapter listings. I tuck back in.

I'm thankful for the pack of pencils I remembered to pack before leaving for Hogwarts, even if I won't be able to use them for class work. The thought of transcribing long paragraphs using nothing but a quill makes my hand hurt. As is, I still need to shake it out occasionally between lines. Still, the rapidly increasing number of used pages in my notebook attests to, if nothing else, a lot of new ideas.

I thought before that I had a fairly decent understanding of the levitation charm. Certainly I already had the incantation and wand motions in the class book. Further visits to _Flourish and Blotts_ left me with an appreciable knowledge of the history of its creation, as well as the castings runic equivalent in four languages. Why you'd ever need to carve those into something is beyond me, but I'm sure someone has use for a permanently hovering object.

No, all of this information is simple enough to find after an hour of quickly flipping through introductory texts. That isn't even counting the actual copies of books I'd already found and flipped through in the alley. What I find beyond that gives me a fair idea of why _Hogwarts, A History_ regards the school library as the best in all of England.

Not only do I find old copies of the first year charms text in every version going back a century, but I find copies of similar texts used by other schools. At a glance, even our own _Standard Book Of Spells_ has changed just about every reprinting with differing exercises and selected spells. The foreign first year spell books, those that are already translated anyway, hold an even wider selection of spells still. The few that also contain the levitation charm include, yet again, their own listing of supplemental exercises and explanations. One of them doesn't even have the incantation in Latin!

I'm focusing my attention on basic spells I know will be both obvious and meant for use on other objects. All the theory in the world on the lumos charm won't help me when I don't have a wand to light. I think anyway. I'm actually not too sure what would happen if I could get one to work. Would I summon a ball of light? Perhaps I'd glow from head to foot.

Either way that leaves the levitation charm, the reversing charm, and the color changing charm. The levitation charm has a few dozen names but they all end up meaning the same thing. Point at an object and guide it gently into the air. The reversing charm would turn an object one hundred eighty degrees in an instant. The color changing charm is exactly what one would expect it to be. I can't do any of them.

The clearing of a throat from behind my high stack of books threatens to send me toppling out of my chair in surprise. I can barely make out the steel grey bun of the resident librarian from over a few particularly thick volumes on magical theory. I blink in a bit of a daze as the majority of the books fly back to their respective shelves, unveiling a window overlooking a now dark Forbidden Forest.

"While I can't force you down to supper, I can kick you out during closing. If you hurry along you may be able to catch a few bites of something before the elves clear the plates."

It takes an embarrassingly long moment for me to make sense of what she said through the muddle of charms theory clogging up my brain. When I finally process it, I stand on shaky legs and gather my now half used notebook and my much shorter pencil. The woman leads me out of the library with a firm hold on my shoulder before shutting the door behind me. I stand in the silent hall, stock still, until the loud rumble of my stomach snaps me out of it.

As I make it into the great hall I can't help but notice how empty the place is, a far sight from the bustle of breakfast. Only a small handful is seated at the Ravenclaw table at all when I take up a spot on the bench. I can't help but note that they're all eating various desserts as well. My brain catches up when I manage to shovel half a plate of food into myself.

_I just spent the entire day in the library. I didn't actually work on a single thing beyond theory._

To be fair, it's very interesting theory that paints a much larger picture of how magic is meant to actually be used to form a spell. Ultimately it really is all book work though. Which means that beyond staying up all night attempting to put all that theory to practice, I'm no closer to actually performing a spell.

_Charms is going to suck._

It would be one thing for people to know that for whatever reason I don't have a wand. Certainly that makes me a little bit different but I'd like to think people would forget it after awhile. Having no wand and a complete inability to perform simple spells though? No need for Dudley to spread rumors there, I'll look like an idiot on my first day all on my own.

The food sticks around long enough for me to pick at as I brainstorm any last minute ideas on how to get my magic working in time for classes tomorrow. As the last traces of dessert vanish off the plates, I'm no closer to puzzling together anything than I was a month ago. I make my way slowly up to the tower, giving half hearted replies to Boot as he asks where I've been all day. I toss and turn, too restless to even manage my mental exercises.

The next day dawns with the feeling that I'm watching a movie. I drift listless through getting ready for the day, only paying enough attention that I pull on my uniform and grab the proper books for Charms and Herbology. I don't think I say a single word before heading down to breakfast, lagging a few paces behind my classmates.

The hall is buzzing with barely restrained anticipation as we take our seats. I manage to swallow down a few spoonfuls of oatmeal and a bite of toast while my stomach flops pitifully. To my left Anthony Goldstein is involved in a fairly animated conversation with Wallace Dorner, our other room mate. Across from me Padma gives the occasional concerned look.

"Are you feeling alright?"

I give her a quick smile and a nod. She tries to hold my eye for a moment and I turn towards the other two, pretending to follow along with their conversation before the expression can drop from my face. I catch the occasional glance my way through the rest of breakfast but I make a point of not looking directly at her again.

Sooner than I'd like, students begin filing out of the hall to their first classes. I push my bowl away, giving up on eating anything else. _Get it over with._ I shoulder my bag and join the crowd.

Our classroom is on the fourth floor and a bit long of a walk from the great hall. The crowd thins out until it's just me and a few Slytherins I vaguely remember from the sorting. I expect them to turn off at some point but as I reach the door for class they walk through as well. _Shared classes it is then._

In my wanderings on Saturday I had seen a few unused classrooms. By and large they reminded me of the same set up I'd had growing up with rows of individual desks facing a board or long communal benches doing the same. This one is put together more like a theater than anything else, with two tiers of bench seats on a raised stand looking down on a single central desk placed before a long black board.

I give one more flip through what I can of my charm notes while I wait for the other students to show up and find seats. I've snagged one in the upper section near a corner in the odd hole of escaping notice. As Boot walks in alongside Goldstein that hope vanishes and they cheerfully make their way up to sit with me.

"Man you're quick! I barely noticed you leave the hall Potter," says a breathless Terry. By the looks of it both boys had rushed their way up to the class, not thinking about the number of stairs they'd be climbing on the way up. I'd like to pretend that's why I left early but I barely noticed the climb and I'm bad at lying to myself.

I make to open my mouth when Padma enters the class, eyes sweeping the room and spotting us. Unfortunately for her there's no seats left up in this corner so she ends up on the first level a few tables down. As soon as she takes her seat Professor Flitwick bustles in, a bouncing fountain of energy that doesn't match his apparent age.

The small man takes a bit of a running start behind the desk in the center of the room, launching himself at a tall stool which teeters precariously on impact. He must be fairly used to it because after one dangerously wide tip he corrals the thing into a slamming halt on solid ground. Some of the Ravenclaws clap appreciatively.

The Professor makes a bit of a bow with a small chuckle before rooting through a small stack of scrolled parchment piled on his desk. After checking through a few he unfurls one with a deft flick and clears his throat. The door to the room bursts open, one of the large Slytherin boys from the train hurrying in. Flitwick watches him shuffle for a seat with a patient smile.

"Now that it appears that everyone has made it, I'll just do a quick roll call and we will begin."

He rattles down the list of names on his scroll, bit once looking up. I'm hoping that means he's somehow memorized our faces already and not that he doesn't care to. It would be a fairly impressive display if he already has. I'm still not a hundred percent sure I know the names of all my year mates in my own house.

"Now, where to start. For those of you who don't know, my name is Filius Flitwick, the resident Professor of Charms. It is my hope that in our time together you will come to love the art as deeply as I do. Charms is a branch of magic best described as…"

He only lectures for a few minutes at most, going over the introduction to the subject and what we could expect to learn this year. I make an effort of starting a clean page of notes for the class, though the majority of the introduction I've probably written down a dozen times over. The man has a good humor about him though, and I can't help but feel like his explanations feel a bit more organic than any of the texts I've flipped through.

Much to my chagrin it seems the rumors are true. After roll the Professor flicks his wand towards the blackboard, tidy cursive streaming from some central point behind him to spell out the words _Levitation Charm_. Below that the incantation flows out both normally and phonetically.

"As those of you who took a small peek through the book may have noticed, the levitation charm isn't the first spell listed. I find that it's a little more fun to learn however."

With a deft swish and flick of his wand, a number of feathers drift their way gently from a drawer in his desk to land in front of us. Considering there's twenty of us arrayed in a wide arc before the man on two separate levels I can't help but feel impressed by the display. The amount of focus something like that would require is amazing, even for a simple first year spell.

"Remember, a swish followed by a flick. Pronunciation is key! No one wants to end up with a duck bill by mistake!"

Almost in unison the class begins pulling out their wands from wherever they've tucked them. I notice that Boot keeps his tucked into his front pocket which seems a little less than wise. I know I've seen wand holsters in the alley, though the enchanted ones were a little pricey. Still, a simple leather holder would be easy enough to sew.

The room fills with the sound of voices in irritating disharmony, like some bizarre echo effect. I duck as Terry swings a bit wide on his first swish. He's concentrating hard enough that he doesn't even notice. I prod my own feather with a finger and rack my brain for whatever new ideas I can come up with. Nothing obvious strikes me so I reach for my notebook instead.

I lose myself for a few minutes thumbing through the messy notes I made yesterday. Mentally sorting through ideas and exercises as I read back over them I dismiss a handful that sound especially close to things I've already attempted. A small scribble I made regarding ward application gives me at least something new to try.

In warding, when not using runic arrays, one of the methods for spell application is referred to as area washing. It's meant to be used for applying specific spells to specific areas. Essentially magic is slowly coated over whatever object or location one may want a spell to act in to 'tune' the area to become more receptive before applying the spell itself. The example given was for individual space expansion charms for different compartments in a trunk.

I'm hoping that I can _tune_ the feather in front of me to respond to my attempt at using a spell. If my magic is really so inwardly drawn that it struggles to leave my body at range then having something else near it that has the same feel might work like a magnet or something to give it that extra little push. I pick up the feather and try to concentrate.

I've never had to tap my magic with others around to distract me. All the little noises of the class, the mutterings and subtle sounds of wands cutting through air add up enough that I'm finding it hard to focus. What had become a near instant practice of reaching for my magic becomes the work of a solid few minutes. As the warm tingle travels up my arm and into my fingertips I think I'm ready to start.

Of course, thinking and doing are very different things. Almost immediately after grazing a knuckle over the edge of my little feather a curl of smoke drifts up to sting at my eyes. I pull my hand reflexively, not eager to set it on fire. _Too much? Too delicate? Can I even use less?_

I've never tried to use less magic at a given time. If anything I usually strain to push more out of myself in my futile efforts to cast. I close my eyes to lessen any outside distractions. I need to really feel out what's happening here.

The same steady prickling heat is running from behind my heart and through my arms. It doesn't beat the way I thought it would when I first saw it in my reflection, but flows. It feels fast? I don't have a frame of reference but I think it feels like the flow cuts through my body quickly, racing from my center to my hands and back. I attempt the mental gymnastics of slowing something in my own body.

What I manage is to pull the feeling away from my fingers so it only reaches up to my palms. I push the flow back into place. _Not like that then_. A deep breath and I tweak my mental prodding. This time I think I can feel something like an ebb in the constant looping rush.

Slowly, very slowly, I reduce the pressure running through my arms. The heat of my magic isn't anywhere close to what I'd consider still, but it is definitely slower now. I crack my eyes open and nearly jump out of my seat.

At some point, and who knows how long my efforts actually took, I managed to gain the attention of Professor Flitwick. The small man, who I had vaguely noticed moving from table to table to help instruct the other students, had made it to mine. His face is inches away from my hands, inspecting them in the curious way that Dumbledore had the first time he saw my magic. Not so much at me, but through me.

I let out a strangled sound as I notice both Boot and Goldstein looking at me curiously as well. I barely register the subtle flow of magic in my hands pick up in pace. I definitely notice as I reflexively push it through my fingers and into the feather, igniting it. I'm bright red as I shake out a stinging hand. Flitwick merely claps in delight as the two other boys jolt back in their seats.

"A little too much I'm afraid, but you looked like you had something going there before I startled you. My apologies Mr. Potter, please continue."

The man floats another feather to my desk to replace mine. I'm so rattled that my magic simply slips away from my mental pull as I try to call it. The now steadily growing audience to my embarrassment whittles down whatever concentration I can summon. After a painfully long time of fruitless struggle, Flitwick looks back up around the classroom, noticing the staring.

"Ah, perhaps if I simply went around once more you'll have better luck when I get back," the man squeaks before moving back down the row. The other students snap back to their own attempts before he can get too close. I slump back into my seat, a hand running through my hair as I pinch my eyes shut.

"Psst!"

I exhale, already not wanting anything to do with whatever this is going to be about. A second later the noise comes again. I open my eyes and give Terry a bit of a grimace. He arches an eyebrow delicately, looking down towards Flitwick, before leaning in.

"What were you doing? Where's your wand?"

And there it is. I didn't think I'd be able to hide it forever, but I haven't really given much thought to how to respond to that question. _Ollivander wouldn't let me have a wand? I was cursed as a child and my magic is weird so I can't have one? I barely fit the criteria of a wizard and can't figure out how to do magic?_

I settle on simply mumbling, "I don't have one."

I draw my eyes away from his confused look as he mouths back my words questioningly. I fiddle with the feather and keep my gaze down, ignoring him. When Flitwick comes around again I put up the shadow of an effort at looking concentrated until he moves on once more.

"You're kidding right?"

His tone speaks miles on how much he believes me. In the back of my head his doubt makes sense too. A wizard without a wand is a strange idea nowadays. Sure I've scanned through a few history books that mention Celtic tribes and Oriental customs. They all include some sort of foci for their work though. To get back to a culture without any sort of wand at all? I hadn't found anything beyond vague ideas on ancient shamans.

"I'm not. Don't have one."

"Like on you? Did you leave it in the dorm or something?"

I wheel towards him, more incensed by the undercurrent of humor in his voice at this point than his inability to drop the topic while we're in class. Caught off guard the other boy flinches for a moment at my expression. It knocks the wind out of my sails and I give a small sigh.

"Look, I just don't have one. Can we not talk about it right now?"

Boot gives me a hesitant nod, leaving me to play with my feather once more. Out of the corner of my eye is see him exchange a weighty look with Goldstein. I lean heavily against an elbow, tilting my head away from them both.

I pass the remainder of the class in silence. Three more attempts in and Boot manages to get his feather airborne. Anthony's isn't that far behind. I'm almost positive that I'm the only one who hasn't managed the spell by the end of class.

Flitwick comes back to my table one more time. He congratulates my roommates sincerely before meeting my eye with a concerned look. I give him a bit of a pained attempt at a smile that I can feel doesn't even reach my eyes.

"Perhaps next class. These things take time."

If my nod back to him seems a little bit grim it's only because I'm not sure I believe it. Flitwick moves on and finishes up the class, assigning a small paper on the levitation charm and its uses. He doesn't specify a length and I'm already tempted to simply turn in the ridiculous number of notes I have on it. All I'd have to do is connect the rambling half sentences I've jotted down. I decide against it, if only so I can obsess over them until the next class.

We are dismissed with a bit more time than necessary before the next period, which for the Ravenclaws is Herbology. As everyone gathers their things together I'm already half way out the door in a poor attempt at dodging Terry, who I can already tell is preparing to interrogate me. I'm the first one to the greenhouses by a long shot. I'm thankful when it isn't either of the two boys that make it in after me but Padma, who I wave over.

I'm hopeful that the vast majority of my exchange during charms escaped her, and it seems I'm right. Either that or she can tell I'm not in the mood to do much besides sit through our first lecture on magical fungi. In any case we maintain silence broken only by the occasional bit of friendly banter as Professor Sprout, a heavy set cheerful woman, teaches for the rest of the morning. I can see Terry attempting to meet my eye through half the class, but I refuse to meet his gaze.

I have never been great in social situations. Blame a childhood that was less than encouraging when it came to making friends or speaking to other people in general. I'd like to think I'm passably decent at talking with adults, a talent cultivated from ensuring shop keepers that my relatives knew where I was and I'd really like to know more about this interesting tool and how to use it. I can't really handle kids my own age though. Which is why I thought very hard about skipping lunch.

The more distance between me and a conversation I'm not ready to have the better. Unfortunately, skipping lunch yesterday alongside my very small breakfast today means my stomach is already angry at me. Short of finding the kitchens and begging to eat there, I don't think I can dodge another meal today. I still make a point of stopping at the tower to grab my transfiguration book for later.

For a brief shining moment as I walk into the great hall, I'm fairly certain I can wedge myself into a space between a few second years. It doesn't last long as the moment I approach the table an arm wraps over my shoulder and whisks me further down. I'm not shocked to find Terry attached to the arm in question.

"We got a table already. You certainly took your time."

I shrug his arm off, resigned to sit with him but certainly not willing to be dragged along like this. I keep a good foot between us as we reach the last table on the Ravenclaw side. I thought for a second it would just be me and Boot but my other two roommates are already seated. I make a point of sitting across from Wallace so I at least won't have to look directly at Terry when he speaks.

"So, about charms?"

I grab a plate and grab a few things at random from the center of the table. I give a goblet if pumpkin juice a curious sniff before taking a swig, making a face as I do. I think I'll stick with water if this is the alternative. Terry elbows me as I take my time cutting my chicken into ridiculously small pieces.

"Seems like a good class. Flitwick is very friendly."

Terry makes a low grumbling noise in the back of his throat while Anthony gives a small snort at his annoyance. For his part Wallace simply continues to eat and watch on curiously.

"He's right Boot, sure seems like a good way to start the week," Anthony snickers from across the table.

"Quiet you, I know you're as curious as I am. You don't have a wand?"

Well he's certainly determined to riddle me out. I still don't want to talk about it though. If there's any one thing I know about kids it's that being different isn't a good thing. I don't think them being wizards will change anything about that. I can't rightly sit here and not answer though. _Just get it over with and move on_.

"Like I said. No wand."

"So how do you do magic?"

If only I knew.

"I'm figuring that part out still."

Wallace perks his head up a bit from his plate and gives me an evaluating look. "You haven't done any spells? From how much you read I kind of figured you'd have half our course load learned by now," he says around a bite of potato.

Spend two days in the library and everyone expects you to call down lightning and throw fireballs or something. If only things were that simple._ I haven't read anything about changing the weather yet, something to look into._ I brush away the thought.

"No, I haven't learned any spells. I know a good amount of theory. It's the actually doing part that I haven't nailed down yet."

The other boy seems satisfied with that and digs back into his plate. Not a boy of many words, seems a bit more concerned with food and something called gob stones gauging off that first night in the dorms. Terry on the other hand isn't content at leaving it there.

"But why don't you have a wand?"

I'm not a master of wand lore and honestly I don't know if I understand the full explanation Dumbledore had for me. I can't even be completely sure that what he thought was going on with my magic is what the actual problem is. The man is supposed to be very smart though, so maybe I should trust his judgment.

"My magic is weird, I don't know. From what I've been told it doesn't want to leave my body so it just doesn't go through a wand like everyone else's."

I don't feel like sharing the why of that right now. If ever. Nothing like revealing tragic moments from when you were a baby to near strangers. No thank you.

"Well if it won't leave your body how are you supposed to cast magic?"

"Like I said, I haven't figured it out yet," I say with a shrug. I take the moment of silence to chew through a few bites. The chicken is kind of tasteless and the potatoes aren't too much better.

"Sounds kind of like a squib," Anthony declares from across the table while scratching his chin. The word is familiar though I think I've only heard it once or twice while I was in the alley. I also remember it always stated in hushed voices and solemn tones. I'm not exactly sure what it's supposed to mean and I give the boy a questioning look.

"Squibs come from magical parents but can't use magic themselves. Like brooms and the like will work for them so they have to have some kind of magic, but it isn't enough that they can use wands."

My face drops into a frown. That does sound a bit too close to home. I can certainly make magical object work, even if I have to focus a bit to manage it. I don't really know anything about brooms beyond cleaning with one but I imagine those will be the same. My stomach sinks a bit as I think about it.

"Do squibs go to Hogwarts though? What would be the point if you can't actually use any magic?"

I give Boot a long look which Anthony seems to match. His hand goes up to his mouth as though to stop the words coming out a bit too late. I'm not hungry anymore and push my plate away.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it like, well, you know," he grasps for some combination of words to clarify and comes up empty. Beyond the cold knot of anger in my chest I can feel the prickling of something in the corners of my eyes. I stand up, pushing my chair back with a clatter.

"I'll see everyone later."

Terry makes to protest but can't seem to find anything to say as I stalk off. I can vaguely make out Anthony chiding him as I walk away. I keep my eyes locked firmly on the ground as I leave the hall, forcing away the thought of squibs as best I can.

I haven't any real destination in mind as I wander off, so I simply walk in the direction of my next class. It's far too early but if I'm going to find anywhere I can sit and calm down it may as well be an empty classroom I'll need to be anyway. If I sniffle a bit during the long walk it's because of the dust lingering in some of these old corridors.

It's a long hour before the first student, a Hufflepuff judging by the tie, pokes their head into the otherwise empty classroom. I've long since given up feeling sorry for myself and I've settled into reading my textbook and making notes on the beginning chapters again. The boy gives me a curious look before taking a seat near the middle, stopping only to look at the tabby cat perched on the teachers desk.

To be honest, I can't remember seeing the cat wander in, though I know it wasn't there when I first opened the door. At some point, maybe around chapter three, I simply looked up to stretch a knot out of my neck, and it was sitting there watching me with a strangely serious gaze. Rather than risk getting scratched I decided to ignore it and continued reading.

It isn't long before the room fills up with students. I look up as each one enters, an eye peeled for Terry's arrival. When he finally does walk in, laughing at some conversation he's having with another Ravenclaw boy I don't remember the name of, we exchange a long look. When he starts walking my way I give him a bit of a glare and he thinks better of it, taking a seat towards the front. A Hufflepuff girl with red hair and a spray of freckles across her face ends up taking the seat next to mine.

The moment the last person finds their chair the cat at the front of the room stretches out and springs off the desk. There's a strange blur that hurts my eyes as the cat shifts into a woman before she hits the ground. The well composed and severe looking Deputy Headmistress now stands at the front of the room. Anyone else would have probably received applause for that particular bit of magic, she simply gains everyone's attention.

"Welcome students, to Transfiguration. I'm glad that everyone has managed to make it here on time." At this she sweeps her gaze across the room, staring at each of us from behind her glasses. "Before we begin in earnest there are a few rules I would like to go over for this class. I expect each of you to know and follow them. Those that cannot will find themselves removed and not welcome back."

Professor McGonagall pulls her wand and stands beside the chalkboard, once more locking eyes with each of us before anything else. The woman's gaze has a way of making everyone sit up just a bit straighter. She gives the space behind her a tap, white letters flowing out in a tidy script.

"There will be absolutely no fooling about in this class. Wands shall never be pointed at another student or their possessions. Any attempts at a transfiguration on another student will not only get you kicked from the class but expelled. Transfiguration is a dangerous art and any student of mine shall treat it with respect."

Another sweep of her eyes across the room. I spot more than one student shifting uncomfortably under her gaze. She taps the board again.

"No transfiguring of food or drink. No transfiguring any object into dust or ash or air. Ever. Transfigurations are not permanent things and anything that can possibly make its way into a body has the potential to cause great harm."

I'm a little confused at that. The first year text book had specified the exact same thing about transfigurations not being permanent. I'm almost positive that I've read something about using it to create objects meant to hold enchantments. What would be the point of applying runes or potions to something that will simply fade away? The Professor continues on as I think about it.

"There will be no attempts at self transfiguration until later years. Human transfiguration is a tricky thing and even those with experience can severely harm themselves if they aren't careful. Does everyone understand?"

As one the class nods or mumbles a yes. For my own part I jot down the words permanent transfiguration on my notes and underline the thought. I'll be looking more into that later. _I know for a fact I saw it in an enchanting book._

"Good. Now, Transfiguration is an art dedicated to…"

The first lesson goes in much the same way that charms did. The only stand out difference is that while Flitwick only lectured for a short while, McGonagall spends the entire first half of class going over the basics of her art. There isn't much flair to the lesson, but it is very informative if you haven't done any supplemental reading. It's unfortunately short on what I'm looking for which is the actual ins and outs of what your magic should be doing while you're attempting a transfiguration spell.

It's something I've noted in all the reading I've done so far and it's beginning to bother me. There's plenty of instruction for wand movements and pronunciation. As a general rule so long as a spell requires words or motion, both of those will be listed in the text in detail. The only text I've seen dive into how magic should actually be interacting during a spell is _Cantrips_, and even then only for the condensation spell.

_Not that it made much difference_.

Still, it's a puzzle to me. I can't help but feel that if I knew more on what it is I'm meant to be making my magic do the entire practice would begin to make sense. So why can I not find it anywhere? Do other students really not need to know anything about their own magic to make a spell work? Is it such an ingrained thing that it's simply assumed that they understand it without explanation?

I'm broken from my chain of thought as matchbooks are floated in front of each of us. At some point the instructions for changing a match into a needle have appeared on the board as well. I can't help but note with some sense of annoyance that it is yet again an incantation alongside wand movements. I bite my lip and watch as everyone pulls a single match from their pack.

I feel a very familiar insecurity bubbling up in my stomach as the other students begin their first clumsy attempts. At the very least I've taken a few days to go over the beginners section of my Charms book with a fine tooth comb. Unfortunately I haven't done nearly the same level of research when it comes to transfiguration. I pull out a match stick and fix it with a firm stare.

The only repeated bit of information in the glance through my text book is that visualization is key. You can't simply say the spell and do the wand motions and expect results for most transfigurations. A solid idea of what you want the object to become is necessary for much of anything to happen. In much the same way as Hedgecraft is a highly individual art, so too is this.

I lock the idea of a sewing needle in my head. It's simple enough, and more importantly similar enough to a match that it doesn't take all too much effort to do so. The size is the same, the shape is more or less already there, even the head of the match lines up with the eye. I then reach for my magic and encounter my first problem.

Again, it's much harder to concentrate and grasp my magic when there's noise around. Combine that with holding a steady image in mind and I'm getting a bit frustrated. Every time I tap that warm feeling behind my heart the thought of what I want drifts away. When I get the image back I find I've lost my grip on my magic. I'm being pulled too far in two different directions and I can already feel the headache coming on.

It takes some doing and more time than I'm happy with before I'm balancing a hazy idea of what I want alongside corralling the steady tingle to stay put under the skin of my hand. I'm about ready to loose my magic into the match itself when the thought of the thing combusting strikes me. I grimace and readjust the strange internal pressure, easing up the feeling until I almost lose it entirely. Another tweak brings it pushing hard enough that I think I can keep it going even with my attention divided. Then I push.

The best way to describe it is like trying to reach out without moving my hand. It's so on the verge of happening that I can feel a small twitch nearly go off in my fingers. The first few times I had actually managed to flow my magic into an object I had actually done just that and dropped the thing, forcing me to start all over. I have a decent feel for it now though and I hold back the physical impulse to actually move.

Just like that, my magic snaps through my skin and fills the matchstick like water in a jar. I can feel it in there, the motion of it all still flowing like a constant trickle through and back into my body. The shape of the match is oddly clear to me now, as though it's part of my hand and always has been. If I could maintain my flow of magic through it I almost feel like I could sketch the thing out from the small swirling pattern in the grain of the wood to the slightly uneven chemical coating on the head.

_Focus. What comes next?_

My face twists in concentration and my vision blurs as I grasp for that all too hazy idea of a needle. I nearly lose the flow of magic in my hand as I reach for it and need to refocus for a minute to maintain it. Slowly I split my focus, the idea of a gleaming silver needle coalescing in my head. I hold the idea. A small bead of sweat runs down the side of my face and I resist the urge to wipe it away.

I concentrate and hold the idea. I sit, focusing, hardly breathing as I stare at the match in between my fingertips and all at once part of my hand. I can see the match. I can see the needle. I hold it.

_Fwip!_

The stupid match catches fire and my head hits the desk in disgust. I resist the sudden urge to scream my throat raw, allowing only a muted groan to leave me. I tilt my head just enough to give a poisonous glare to the giggling Hufflepuff next to my seat. She simply bites her lip and looks away, managing to cover the next giggle with a fake cough as McGonagall looks our way from the front of the room.

I give a small sigh and set the burnt out matchstick on the edge of my desk and retrieve another from the packet. By the small rattle the box gives as my fingers dip into it I can tell there's plenty more matches left._ At least I won't have to bother anyone for more._ With that though, I take a deep breath and start over.

By the end of class I have a small pile of burnt matches and a couple of very sore fingertips. To pass the time between attempts on what I can now see might be a bottomless box of strike anywheres I've stacked the charred remains of my numerous attempt into a blocky tower on the edge of my desk. I'm currently finishing off a second floor and hopeful that I can add a window on the next level. Around my fiftieth go at this my frustration bled away into the kind of sick determination that Aunt Petunia occasionally showed during cleaning frenzies.

Harry Potter does not surrender to inanimate pieces of wood. Nor does he give up under constant giggling of Hufflepuff girls. _I don't care how much I burn my fingers. Or how sweaty I get. I would go so far as to say I will not be removed from this chair until at least one of these attempts manages to result in something I can use to sew a quilt dedicated to my hatred of all things small, wooden, and flammable. _

"I believe that is our time for today."

Damn.

"Before next class I would like everyone to have prepared an essay on today's lesson as well as a summary of the next chapter. Half a page minimum would do nicely."

Like it or not, I can already tell that I'm going to need more than half a page. With any luck I'll have found enough theory between now and next class to write my own book on match to needle transfigurations. At least considering my progress compared to the small sets of needles the other students are leaving behind on their desks I may need about as much if I ever want to manage this. I consider leaving behind my own pack of matches before deciding it would be best to keep them for practice.

I take my time packing away my bag, enough for most of the class to empty out ahead of me. Boot gives a long look at my tower of matches as he walks passed and shakes his head. I feel the red creeping up my neck as he walks out the door. Wallace and Goldstein can't quite meet my eye but offer up a sad smile and shrug in turn. I shoulder my bag and make my way out of the room behind everyone else, aggravated for a reason I can't put into words.

There's free time before dinner and instead of following the small collection of Ravenclaws back up to the tower, I find myself wandering in the direction of the library again. I'm still fired up from class and need to make a solid effort not to simply wade into the Transfiguration section and begin pulling every book I find there to read. I make a point of selecting what looks like the most basic books in the section instead, hoping to find some more step by step instruction in the art. I do decide to leave the one titled _Shapes for Kids_ alone.

When Madam Pince clears her throat from behind a teetering stack of books to kick me out I'm only a little surprised. There's a cramping in my wrist that can only be the end result of a few solid hours of writing. The good news is I won't have to work on that Transfiguration lesson. The bad news is that I'm now being pushed out the door and rushing to make whatever is left of dinner. Again.

The common room is mostly silent when I finally walk in. One of the prefects give me a look as I wander in from the portrait hole, taking a glance at the small grandfather clock in the corner to ensure I made curfew. He gives me a slight nod and turns back to scratching out an essay on one of the many tables strewn about the room.

Seeing as there aren't too many students down here and not wanting to go up to the dorm just yet I set up on one of the low backed plush armchairs, this particular one set a little away from the large fireplace. It may be September but the chill of the season hasn't quite set in enough to need a full fire. It is however, cold enough that I toss my cloak over my legs as I curl up to go through some more reading.

Before I know it the grandfather clock strikes midnight and I'm long since the last person still in the common room. I'm kind of shocked that the prefect from before didn't kick me out before shuffling off to bed but from where I'm sitting and the size of the chair I'm practically invisible. In any case, I've stayed up far too late when I have morning classes.

As I make my way up to the silent snoring of my dorm mates, I can't help but hope that history will at least be exciting enough to keep me awake until lunch. If I just grab a small sandwich or something I can nap before my first Potions class. I'm oddly hopeful for the next day as I fall asleep. After all, history can't be all that bad and Potions is something I know for a fact I can do.


End file.
